Change of Plans
by mkkkkng
Summary: It's not her fault she's here. And it's not like she wants to be here. The last thing she wants, in fact, is to be friends with these tennis-obsessed freaks... Right? NiouxOCxMura
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, as we all know. Besides, if it were, it would all be in Rikkai's point of view. Because Rikkai is WAY BETTER. FACE IT.

* * *

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter one.**

* * *

Monday morning, I wake up as usual to four different alarm clocks, all beeping their little electronic hearts out like their lives depend on it. As usual, I kind of zombie-walk around the room to turn them off, eyes half-closed, finding it too draining to pay attention to where I'm going. And, as usual, I pull on the already-prepared outfit before turning to the full-length mirror to make sure I look presentable.

Which is when I finally realize that something is _very_ wrong.

Spinning around, I scan my surroundings. Blank walls, an oversized desk, an empty bookshelf, a clean bed. "What… the _hell_?" I demand out loud.

"Emily! Come on! I _told_ you last night your new school starts earlier than in America!"

Than in America. Earlier. _New school._

Right.

I stare out the window at the unfamiliar houses for a full twenty seconds, miserably noting that it has begun to rain. Tugging uncomfortably at the Rikkai uniform's black skirt, I pick up the strap of my worn-out bag and drag it grumpily out of the perfectly organized, plush-carpeted, _fake _bedroom.

"Good morning," Mom greets pleasantly when she sees me. "How are you?"

"Oh? You _really_ want to know?" I challenge, dropping into a wooden chair and pushing my overgrown bangs out of my eyes. They fall back again, of course. "I feel like I've died and gone to… wait for it… _wait for it_… _Hell."_

She frowns at me. "You're being unfair, Emily."

I mentally cringe, but don't take it back. "It's not _my_ fault that I'm being nasty and everything. I'd be the pleasant, perfect daughter I've always been if I were back _home._" I shrug. "Simple."

She sighs loudly before pointing at the deformed mound of matter on the plate in front of me. "Just eat, okay?"

"No, thank you." I pull on a pair of happy yellow smiley-face socks and stand up, walking dejectedly towards the front door. "Good-bye, Mother," I sigh, waving half-heartedly.

"Hey, wait – what about breakfast?" she protests. "I tried really hard to make this!"

I glance at the plate. I _think_ they're pancakes, but no one can be completely positive with my mom's food. It doesn't stop her from trying, though, which _would_ be cute if the food wasn't so inedible.

"I'll pass." Slipping on my black converse sneakers, I open my umbrella and step out into the pouring rain – but not before I hear her call after me.

"This is for you, you know!"

I slam the door.

* * *

"Once upon a time, there was a happy girl named Emily Koichi," I say out loud from under my umbrella, confident that no one can hear me over the pouring rain. "Yes, that's right, her name was _Emily Koichi,_ and not anything dumb, like _Koichi_ _Emi."_

I nod in satisfaction at the way my story is starting. "She was, as I already said, a very happy girl, with lots of friends and no curfew and a mall within walking distance. She was also quite intelligent, if she does say so herself, and got lines of A's on her report cards. Her parents were very proud of her and would never think of doing anything that might ruin her life.

"And then one day, something terrible happened." Right on cue, thunder rumbles in the distance, further accentuating the horror of the situation. "Emily stepped into an alternate universe, and her life crashed in on itself. She was packed away into a small car, crammed into the backseat with all of the luggage – almost as if she were just some luggage herself!" More thunder. Weather sucks and rocks at the same time.

"Her parents turned evil," I continue, stomping down hard on a puddle to send the rainwater flying, "and her father decided that his new job offer in Japan would be _better_ than in America." Stomp. "Both of them _claimed_it was all for _her_and some nonsense about cultural exploration or something!" Stomp. "They ganged up on her and dragged her halfway across the world into a strange, foreign country," stomp, "in an airplane," stomp, "in which she had to watch movies that she'd already seen before with her _friends_!"

Seething, I look down at my converse all-stars, my favorite shoes, the rainwater slowly seeping up towards my ankles. I shake them out in frustration. "And now she is here," I sigh, giving up the stomping to instead diligently avoid puddles, which I have just realized are filled with worms, "Walking to a school likely filled with people who will gladly give her grief and misery, when she would _usually_ have been catching a ride with her best friend's hot older brother."

By now, I have reached the school gates. "The end to a woeful story by Emily Koichi." I make a face at the large, black plaque on the brick wall that informs me I have reached Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku. "Nice clock tower," I murmur, reluctantly impressed. If it's correct, then I currently have thirty seconds to get to homeroom.

I have thirty seconds to get to homeroom.

"God_dammit_!" I yell, and break out into a full-out sprint.

* * *

I'm out of breath and all I want is to stop and go home and get under the covers and _sleep_. Why is the stupid school front yard so stupidly _huge,_anyway? Who needs a huge _school_ yard?

Just as I'm only a few yards from the front entrance, a curly-haired freak demonstrates his mastery of the art of apparition directly in my path. Unfortunately, having the reflexes of a tortoise, I crash straight into him. We fall to the ground.

Did I mention it was pouring?

"Oof," I hear from under me.

"Watch where you're going, dude!" I snap in English. "Why does life hate me? Why do I deserve this?" I push myself off of whoever I've just fallen over and glare disgustedly at the mud splatters all over my leg. "I hate my life!" I scream, even though it does look like I'll be able to just wipe it off, considering I forgot to wear the black knee-high socks anyway.

"I don't understand English," the boy groans. His clothes don't look nearly as lucky. I watch as he sits up, wiping off his uniform in annoyance and running a hand through his thick mass of hair, somehow messing it up even further. Even in the rain, his ridiculous corkscrews stay relatively curly. "I hate Mondays," he comments amiably.

I huff. "Same. Now are you okay, or not? I need to decide if I should call 911 or just step on you as I leave."

He tilts his head. "You know, most people would be the _teensiest _bit more sympathetic when they've just mowed down an innocent second-year, but I guess you're _special_, aren't you?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're being sarcastic?"

"Probably because I _am_ being sarcastic."

Sighing, I shake my head. "Whatever. Do you want me to _carry_ you, or what?" I demand in exasperation, watching the second hand tick by on the clock tower. Come to think of it, it's that big clock tower that has caused this entire mess. If it hadn't been there, I wouldn't have realized I was late, and then I wouldn't have had to run, and then I would never have crashed into Sarcastic Boy.

"Yes, please," the boy decides. I open my mouth to beat him down with a few carefully chosen words, but then he stands up, inspecting the damage done to his uniform. "Just kidding. It'll be the apocalypse if I ever need to be carried by a girl."

"Hm," I nod thoughtfully. "Oh, I get it. You're just another sexist guy, intimidated by the superiority of women."

He nods. "Yeah, that's what it is. My problems with women are all solved now, thanks to you. Have you ever considered a future in psychology?"

I smile mirthlessly. "I'm cracking up right now, seriously."

He grins, picking up and shaking out his backpack with the speed and diligence of a sloth. Groaning in impatience, I grab it from him and glide irritably towards the school entrance, half in annoyance for his self-assurance and half in aversion to being late to my first class. Although I fully expect him to follow, a lazy call informs me he is doing no such thing.

"Hey," he drawls. Even without looking back, I can tell he is making no move to hurry. "That's my bag, you know?"

I stop. Breathe in, out. In, out. "You know what?" I say finally. "Just, whatever. I give up. _Be_ late. _Get_ detention. See if I care. I, on the other hand, would rather _not_, so enjoy your tardiness, _kid_," I huff. "I don't see why I've even waited for you this long anyhow."

"Bye," he responds.

I toss his still-dripping backpack at him as he nears, and although – being me – I miss by about a mile, he manages to catch it easily, coolly slinging it over his shoulder without a hint of disgust.

I pause. "You just got mud all over your back," I inform him. "Someone told me once that Japanese schools are super-strict about appearance."

"I thought you were leaving?"

I glare. "I _was_. But I actually have no idea where I'm going. _Shut up_," I warn as he opens his mouth. "I don't want to hear it."

He laughs. "They are," he says.

"What?" I say dumbly.

"Japanese schools, I mean. They are super-strict about appearance. But not to worry," he continues. "I'm a rebel. I'm allowed to."

I blink. "A rebel? Well, that changes things!" I exclaim excitedly. I hold my hand out brightly for him to shake. "We rebels have to stick together, you know. We're a dying breed. Now, we just have all these goody-two-shoes and suck-ups. No, really, why didn't you say so before?"

"Er," he says, looking incredibly confused and completely weirded out. "I mean, it's not exactly the best of conversation starters. Because, 'hi, I'm Kirihara and I'm a rebel' doesn't really scream 'I come in peace.'" He blinks, tilting his head at me. "Hold on a sec. Who are you? Because you're _definitely_ not the same person you were two minutes ago."

I shrug. It seems more fun to keep him at a perpetual state of confusion than to answer him. Perhaps as bad karma for being so utterly sarcastic. "You play tennis?" I ask instead, motioning toward his racket case.

"What tipped you off?" he exclaims, pretending to be astonished. "Most people think I play soccer, but I should have expected your great deductive ability, considering how much more intelligent you are than the average Joe." Evidently, he has recovered from his previous mental crash.

"Oh god, it'll be a _serious_ miracle if you don't get a swift kick from me in the shins sometime today," I threaten with a glare.

"Hey, who are you, anyway? I've never seen you around."

"You first," I prompt, because I am just a stingy, stubborn little ass like that, and feel the need to put up a fight to everything. I mentally cringe at myself, feeling suddenly sorry for this kid who has to put up with me.

However, he answers promptly. "Kirihara. Kirihara Akaya, second year."

"Koichi Emily," I say. "Third year. First day at Rikkai."

"Emily?" he repeats. "That's not Japanese."

"Can't fool you," I say unhelpfully, not in the mood to explain my origins. I make a mental note to introduce myself as 'Emi' from now on.

"And how is it your first day? Aren't you kind of late to be joining classes right now? Because it's spring, and all." He tucks his tennis racket under his arm and begins wiping off his backpack again.

"No, I'm _really_ late to be joining classes right now," I correct. "Because it's spring, and all."

For some reason, he decides that _now_ would be a good time to notice the time. "Hm," he says. "We seem to be late."

"_Really_?" I gasp, shocked. "I didn't notice."

"No, we are," he says earnestly, pretending not to notice my look. "I think it would be a wise idea to head toward our first class."

"I deeply regret not recognizing your superior mental ability before."

"What homeroom are you?" he asks as we make our way to the front doors.

"3-B."

"Really?" he grins with something that could be happiness, or evil intent. "That's… my friends' homeroom."

"Ah, dumb luck." I sigh dramatically. "But still, to be friends with your senpais? You fare pretty well for yourself," I say, impressed. "I thought that was hard in Japan."

"Tennis team," he explains simply. He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at me, like he is trying to figure something out. "Has anyone ever told you you're extremely biased against the country of Japan? Because you are."

"Eh," I reply.

"You know, since I'm such a nice person, I'll show you the way. Right this way, madam."

He leads me down a long hallway. Then, we go down another long hallway, climb two sets of stairs, and go down yet another long hallway. I'm completely out of breath when he taps the sign in front of the door. "3-B."

"Huh?" I pant. "Isn't there… a shortcut to this place? I mean, _jeez_."

He watches apathetically. "Your stamina kind of sucks, a lot."

I stop panting, just to show him I'm not a weakling. "No, it doesn't," I manage to say defiantly, despite the fact that I feel like I'll spontaneously combust. I catch him roll his eyes before I peer into the classroom. It's filled with loud, obnoxious students—at least that hasn't changed.

I glance at Kirihara again, who is also peering in the window as if to look for something. He seems to find it, because he grins in a self-satisfied way and turns away. Weird. "Thanks, Kiri-kun," I say, pretending not to be analyzing his every move. He nods absent-mindedly. "Bye, maybe I'll see you around."

"If you're going into _that_ classroom with _those_ people, I'll definitely be seeing you around," he says mysteriously. "Bye."

* * *

"Alright, guys, shut your overactive mouths," the homeroom teacher calls out. "I have an important announcement."

I stand awkwardly halfway between her and the doorway, painfully aware of the semi-discreet glances the students steal at me.

"I'm pretty sure I told you guys yesterday we have a new student…" she says, rubbing her index and middle finger against her temple. "Did I?"

"Are you hungover?" A boy asks innocently from the middle row.

She glares at him. "No." Pause. "Okay, maybe a little. I mean…" She clears her throat. "So I want to introduce you to Koichi – Niou, get up." She sighs. "Somebody wake Niou up."

A nearby girl in a bleached-blonde side-ponytail looks positively overjoyed to do so. Her manicured hand taps the boy's back, softly at first, slowly increasing in power to a flat-out shake. "Niou-kun. Niou-kun!"

"Mm—wha?" Niou groans, lifting his head from his arms. "Sensei," he says pleasantly with a lazy grin. "You look lovely today." He doesn't even try to disguise the sleepiness from his voice, or the yawn that follows.

"Ah, Niou. Always a pleasure."

He nods lazily. There is something about him that catches me—something in his calmness, or in his sure, confident smile. Something in those eyes that _watch_, just waiting for something to happen. I stare at his silver eyes—_silver!_—until suddenly, without warning, he turns to stare straight back. I blink, startled, before looking away.

Why did I look away?

"Everyone, please welcome a new student to Rikkaidai. Koichi, introduce yourself."

"I'm…" I clear my throat. "I'm Emi Koichi. Nice to meet you, I guess. Call me… whatever." I shrug. "Koichi… Koichi-chan… Emi-chan?" I try my options out loud, feeling them out. I don't like any of them. "Call me Emi," I decide finally.

"Okay, care to delve slightly further?"

I shrug. "I'm from California, but my dad suddenly got a job transfer to Japan. So my parents dragged me here. And here I am!" I raise my hands in a 'ta-da!' pose. No one's really watching, though. They lost interest when I started talking about job transfers.

"Anyone have questions for Koichi?" sensei calls out to the class. Obviously no one bothers, so sensei turns to me and asks me herself. "How are you so good at Japanese if you were raised in America?"

"My dad's Japanese," I answer. "And they were strict about me learning the language."

"Wonderful," she says, without much feeling. Further proof she doesn't actually care. "The bell's going to ring soon… Well, anyway, welcome to Rikkai. We're all happy to meet you. Aren't we?" she calls out pointedly.

"Yes," the class answers half-heartedly.

"You can sit..." she scans the classroom. "Oh, this'll work well—between Yukimura and Sanada. They can help you if you need it." She nods towards the back of the room, and I turn to see the most beautiful— no, really, _beautiful_— boy raise his hand politely so I know where to sit. Two seats over sits an intimidating tall kid who looks like he has never smiled in his entire life. Exact opposites.

I make my way to the empty desk and sit down, turning first to Beauty. "I'm Emi. Are you Yukimura-kun, or Sanada-kun?" I ask politely. I think he has a smaller waist size than me.

Beauty opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off when the kid in front of me suddenly spins around and grins. I blink in surprise. It's Silver-Eyes. "Hello," I say uncertainly, slightly wary. His eyes carry so much in them.

"That," he says, pointing at Beauty, "is Sanada." Then he points at Scary. "And that's Yukimura."

Although I fail to see how that is his business, as I wasn't talking to him nor asking _his_ name, I smile cordially and nod. "Thank–" I begin, but he cuts me off again with this infuriating lopsided grin.

"Or it could be the other way."

He's still grinning at me. I narrow my eyes. His confident, self-satisfied smirk tells me exactly what kind of person he is: the kind of person who goes through life like it's all a game, and thinks it's fine to use everyone around as game pieces.

Before I think about what I'm saying, English begins pouring off of my tongue. "Take advantage of the new girl, why don't you?" I hiss.

"Huh?" he says. I fight the urge to laugh. _Who's superior now?_

"Have you ever read _The Princess Bride?_" I continue. "Oh no, of course not. Why would someone like_you_," I emphasize the word, "bother to read such a wonderful classic when you could sleep in class? My mistake. Anyway, there's this part where Vizzini, the Sicilian mastermind, has a battle of wits against Westley. Westley wins, and Vizzini dies. In this case, I am Westley and you are Vizzini."

"What?" he says. None of what I'm saying actually makes much sense, nor does it apply to the situation, but does that matter?

"You need me to say it clearer? God, you're dumber than you look," I say meanly. "I'll say it clearly. Mess with me, and you will _die._"

He smirks.

Blood boiling, I furrow my eyebrows in frustration before turning to look at Beauty. "You're Yukimura-kun?" I confirm calmly, switching back to Japanese.

Beauty glances warily at Niou before smiling softly. "That's correct," he nods. Even his voice is beautiful. It's almost impossible; it's like an angel has descended the earth. I shiver, although I have no idea why I'm intimidated by such a beautiful person.

I turn to Scary. "Sanada-kun?" I confirm.

"Yes," he answers shortly, giving me a nod.

"Cool. I'm Emi. Nice to meet you."

He nods again. "Nice to meet you."

Against my will, I find myself glancing momentarily at Niou. He smirks and opens his fat mouth. "I'm Niou -"

"Oops, I forgot to get my schedule! Silly me," I exclaim, turning to Yukimura with an oh-I'm-so-stupid head slap. I cringe. _Silly me? Who even says that?_

Yukimura is looking at me strangely, so I quickly change the subject. "Hey, what do we have first period?" I ask.

"Oh, of course," Yukimura says. "Math."

_Math._ I gape at him, unbelieving of my horrifically terrible luck. My annoyance for Niou is quickly replaced by my hatred for the subject. "Math," I repeat. "Great." I sigh, extracting my books from my bag and pile them messily on my desk. "I _hate_ math."

No one agrees, only watches me bemusedly. Apparently, they all love math.

The bell rings.

* * *

new story my broskis!

edit: 120521, because i'm a cheater


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: nothing that's not mine is mine. wait, no, let's do this positively! everything that's mine is mine. :D

* * *

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter two.**

* * *

As I know it, there are two kinds of teachers: the kind that generally leaves new kids alone, waiting until they get used to a new school themselves, and the kind that bombards the poor kid with personal questions so we can all 'get to know them' better.

I say 'get to know them' in quotation marks because honestly, does anyone really care where the new kid is from? No. Not unless the kid in question is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, a multi-billionaire, or an absolute academic genius available for copying answers off of. None of which, by the way, I am.

It's not like I'm complaining because I'm uncomfortable with talking, or anything. On the contrary, I am frequently told that I do way too much talking. My history teacher once put it nicely: "you just don't know your limits."

Being me, of course, I was actually quite flattered. "Why, thank you," I'd replied, because I thought she was saying it like, 'you are so amazing and intelligent that your possibilities in life are endless.' But obviously, that was not the case. My response had actually earned me a pleasant trip down the hallway to the principal's office for something along the lines of 'disrespectful cynicism' or something.

But I digress.

As I said, it's not like I'm complaining about having to speak in front of the class; I'm complaining about being _forced_ to speak in front of the class.

The math teacher is turning out to be the epitome of Teacher Type II. Which, of course, is just fantastic.

"So, Koichi, where was your old school?"

Mars. "Los Angeles."

"Do you like it here better, or LA?"

"Well, sir, I've been here for less than a week. I don't really know." It takes all the willpower in my body to prevent myself from making that sentence drip with sarcasm.

"Fair enough," sensei says with a nod, uncapping and re-capping his dry-erase marker. "Then, do you like math?"

I almost burst out laughing.

Math is a synonym for torture. Math is a euphemism for hell.

So I do the only logical thing possible under the circumstances: I tell the truth.

"Actually, sensei," I announce, "I hate math."

Sorry, did I say 'logical'?

Yukimura stiffens next to me at my words. Slowly, he turns around and gives me a warning look. I pretend I don't see him, but for some reason, that disapproving gaze makes me want to shut up and sit down.

My character wins over him, though. I continue yapping. "I don't understand why we need to learn how to graph a parabola or find out how long it will take Suzy to reach Jerry's house if her train is going sixty miles an hour. I mean, honestly, if Suzy just sat down in her seat and waited until she reached Jerry's house, she would find out. Why should I care when Suzy meets Jerry? And will my job _guarantee_ I know how to convert base 10 to base 2?"

Sensei stares at me, and I stare back, wondering what exactly is going to happen. It's always the moments after I fling out the words that I wonder if I should have said them. Maybe he'll chuck that dry-erase marker he's holding at my head. Maybe he'll send me to the principal for my ignorance. Maybe he'll make me stand out in the hall with a chair above my head for the entire period. I've seen that happen in manga.

But unexpectedly, he laughs. I must say, I am impressed. I guess I judged him too quickly – the man has a sense of humor.

"Okay, then," he says as he turns around and begins writing up a complicated problem on the whiteboard. I lean back in my chair, satisfied with myself. Kids I don't know hold their hands up for high-fives and slap my back. I grin back at them, before looking at Yukimura.

I find myself feeling inexplicably wary of his opinion. I have, after all, openly disobeyed an unspoken but obvious order he has given me. Stop_,_ he implied, and yet I went ahead and did it.

I immediately regret it, though. Looking in his direction, I mean; not disobeying his order – because God knows that felt good. His disapproving gaze bores straight into my side like a drill press.

_Gah_.

Wait. An order?

Who is he to order me? Why did it even seem like an order? He didn't even say anything.

I'm half-surprised that my arm is not disintegrating at the intensity of his gaze, but I take my mind off of him by returning high-fives and fist-pumps. _Okay, so Yukimura hates me. But on the bright side, the math teacher won't pick on me anytime in the near–_

"Koichi? Let's see how much you know about this hate-worthy subject, shall we?" he says, tapping the board with the marker, creating small green dots on the shiny white surface. "Come up and solve this problem."

I stare in disbelief. "You're _kidding_, right?" I say.

"I rarely ever kid. Let's see it done, Koichi, or I'll have to give you a zero on class participation for your first day in my class. We don't want that, do we? Let's see you solve this problem."

_Let's see you die,_ I retort in my head.

Right then, a familiarly beautiful voice breaks out from the heavens. "But, sensei…Koichi's new, and all…"

I spin my head around so fast to look at him that I feel my neck crack. He glances at me quite frustratingly _expressionlessly_ before turning back to sensei, and I can't for the life of me figure out if he's angry at me or not. He wouldn't defend me like this if he were, would he? But he's not smiling at me like he did all throughout homeroom. Maybe he's just naturally heroic and has a need to help out classmates and compulsively aids them out of sympathy. Maybe he's not angry but just doesn't to smile anymore because his face hurts.

Am I making things up to comfort myself? Hell yes.

"But, Yukimura, I just want to see how well she does in _my class_, for future reference. If I want_my_ student to solve a problem in _my_class, she should, don't you agree?"

"But I don't think you should – "

"I find it surprising that a usually well-behaved student like you is being so difficult. Unlike _some people_, you don't talk back."

_Some people._Such cryptic labels.

The class's heads swivel from Yukimura and back to sensei like they're watching a tennis match.

"I'm not trying to defy you, sensei," Yukimura says slowly, "but I just want to say–"

"Personally, I think you've said enough," sensei says coldly.

That.

Was rude.

Fine, I have a bias, since Yukimura is defending _me_, but that was _so rude._We live in a democracy, here, and you just can't treat other people like that, because – because – because you just _can't._Everyone has a right to voice their opinions and shit, right? Or is it just America that's like that? I don't know. I don't know anything about this place, but all I do know right now is that sensei is going _down_ for speaking to Yukimura like that.

I cut them both off as I loudly push my chair away. Standing up, I feel the wary eyes of everyone in the room – and Yukimura. I stand there for a few more seconds, just to make a cool impression (and also to stall for time, because I really don't actually remember how to solve that question up there). I'm touched at the sight of a couple kids watching me in concern, the knowledge that kids I barely know are on my side against the fight for justice against authorities. Or, you know, something like that.

I walk up to the front of the room and look at all of them. There is Yukimura, watching half in concern, half in… something else. I have a feeling it's something like, 'I told you so', but I don't really want to think about that. There's Sanada, looking slightly angry and stern, but then, he always looks like that. And Niou. Oh, sweet, wonderful Niou, leaning back in his chair with an expression of amusement and anticipation.

I narrow my eyes at him, and the corner of his lip twitches upward.

I smile innocently at sensei, take the marker, and begin.

* * *

"It's funny how he managed to include graphing a parabola, trains, _and_ people named Suzy and Jerry _in_ _one_ _problem_," I mutter.

"Are you still hung up about math class?"

Yukimura watches me with an expression I can't decipher. It bothers me that I never know what he's thinking unless it's criticizing. It doesn't do much for my ego, you know, when the only thing I know from the guy who might be my only sort-of friend is that he disapproves of me.

"Hung up?" I repeat. "Hung up. No, I am not hung up. I," I say, "am so, freaking, angry."

"I see you're the type to include pauses between words when you're pissed," Niou comments as he comes up behind us.

We are all walking to lunch after an unfortunate morning filled with math, biology, and then home ec. I am thisclose to murdering the next available kid within stabbing distance. Oh look, it's Niou. Just kidding. Kind of.

"I see you're the type who doesn't cease to annoy the hell out of people even _when_ they're pissed," I shoot back with a glare. "And you know, thanks for your help back then, too. At least Yukimura-kun had the sense to _try_ to do something about my miserable soon-to-come future, you know? But _you_. you just _sat_ there with that annoying little smirk and that stupid little ha-ha-I'm-so-much-better-than-you-and-your-sucky-life thing. Really, Niou, thanks," I huff at him.

He raises an eyebrow. "I didn't realize I was expected to help you," he says. "Do I have an obligation to do so now?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I can't. I mean, he _doesn't_ have an obligation to help me. In fact, I should never have expected him to. I'm supposed to hate him, and therefore, not need his help. Like, ever.

So why am I so angry that he just sat there?

_Sanada_ just sat there, but I don't find any frustrated emotions towards him. I glance at him to see he is currently eavesdropping – er, listening – to a group of second-year guys discuss tennis. When he realizes I'm watching him, he glances at me indifferently. "Yes?" he says, when I don't say anything.

I shrug. "It's nothing."

He looks mildly annoyed, but doesn't press the matter. I don't really expect him to. He doesn't seem to want much of anything to do with me. I make a mental note not to bother him unless absolutely necessary. He could probably beat me up with a finger.

And then he speaks. "Koichi-san?"

I stare at him. I have a hard time believing _Sanada_ just initiated conversation with me. "Um," I say, still startled at the way his eyes are boring directly in mine, "you mean me?"

He pauses, as if contemplating what to say to that. "Yes… you. Your name _is_ Koichi-san, is it not?" he asks slowly.

"I… yeah. Sorry. Yes?"

"It would be advisable not to be quite so… _disobedient_ to our teachers in this school. They obviously don't take well to it and further action of the sort you demonstrated this morning will not do you anything favorable." He nods curtly. "I would just like you to bear that in mind, because not only is it affecting the amount of enjoyment _you_ could have at this school, it is also affecting the rest of us."

I blink at him, frozen. "Oh… oh," I say. "I see. I'll be sure to, um… bear that in mind."

Niou cracks up, slinging an arm around Sanada's shoulder, who looks at him in mild distaste. "There's our Sanada, always looking out for others in the most intimidating way possible," he snickers. He pinches Sanada's cheek. Now Sanada looks at him in _severe_ distaste. Niou lets go.

I am reminded of that garbage bag commercial. _Wimpy! Wimpy! Wimpy!_

"I," Sanada glowers, "will be assigning you several extra laps at practice."

Niou sticks his tongue out. I guess they're all on a sports team. By the looks of it, Sanada is captain. "Well," Niou says, "it's not like I'm not used to it. Anyway, Sanada's right. The math teacher's just kind of immature and doesn't take well to anything unless it's flattery."

" But that was _evil._ That's was horrible. That was just, absolutely, _unfair._"

"There are the little pauses between your words again," Niou practically sings. "How cute."

I glare at him. I never even noticed I did the little word-pause thing. No one's ever pointed it out to me before, but now that I think about it, I do do it a lot, and it frustrates me that this stupid _Niou_ kid has shown me something about myself.

After I buy a hamburger in line, Sanada and Yukimura follow, talking about something or other. Discreetly, I scan the large cafeteria for somewhere tolerable to sit, preferably a table without completely preppy fakeheads, but every single table is packed. Even the ones _with _completely preppy fakeheads.

I sigh, and Sanada and Yukimura look at me. I glance around, but Niou has disappeared. Better for me, anyway; he'd probably laugh at me for this. "So," I say. "I have the New Girl Issue."

"New Girl… Issue?" Yukimura repeats, as if it is in a foreign language.

"Meaning, may I please sit with you today? Because I don't really know anyone else. Considering I'm, you know, new to the school, and stuff," I sigh dramatically. "I promise I won't bother you. You can send me off to the corner of the table and leave me there and not even look at me and I won't mind."

Maybe I _would_ fit in with the preppy fakeheads. I almost slap myself for the oh-pity-me act, but if it gets me a seat, then what the hell.

"Of course you can sit with us," Yukimura is saying. "It's no problem at all."

"You'll have to put up with the rest of the tennis team," Sanada adds in a tone that makes it seem like a statement enough to make me flee the school, and then maybe even the country. "They might be… _difficult_ to a newcomer, Koichi-san. But once you get to know them, they're somewhat tolerable."

"Difficult?" I repeat thoughtfully. Then something catches me. "Wait, did you say tennis team?" I ask. I grin suddenly at the epiphany. Everything makes sense now: _that's_ the sports team they're on, _that's _why Sanada was assigning Niou laps, _that's _why Sanada was interested in the second-years discussing tennis, and, of course, _these_ are the friends Kiri-kun was talking about. "Then do you know Kirihara Akaya? Isn't he on the team?"

I find myself ridiculously excited at the fact that I'll be seeing another sort-of friend. It would be nice to see him.

Both Yukimura and Sanada stare at me. "Yes," Sanada says slowly. "How do you know Akaya? What did he do?" he demands sharply, as if Kirihara's wrongdoings are all his responsibility.

"We… bumped into each other," I say, startled. _They must be pretty close._ "He didn't do anything." Now that I think about it, _I _was particularly nasty to him this morning. I should probably apologize.

Sanada rearranges his rice on his tray. "I see," he says. "Never mind, then. He's just known to be… unruly. Like you," he says pointedly.

Well, he _is_ a rebel. Clearly, though, Sanada is one of those order-and-control freaks.

Yukimura leads us to a table filled with guys in their second- and third-years, and again, like during math class, I feel the gazes of girls watching me evilly. I almost glare straight back, but figure that would just be asking for death by perfectly-sharpened nails.

I sit down next to Yukimura, and Sanada sits across from him. "You guys must be really good at tennis," I say conversationally.

It's directed to either Yukimura or Sanada, but a redhead with a startling amount of junk food answers. "You bet we're good," he nods. "We're national champions." He sips at a soda. "Like a _boss."_

"Nationals?" I repeat in astonishment. "That's… really awesome."

"Yeah," Redhead agrees. "We _are_ pretty awesome. Of course, it's me who brings most of that awesomeness to the table."

Yukimura ignores him, seemingly used to it. "I'm captain, and Sanada is the vice-captain. And yes, we've been awarded the national title two years in a row."

Strangely enough, he doesn't say this with any obnoxious pride. I thought all guys obsessed with sports bragged about these things, but Yukimura… doesn't. He's just a modest, gentle, kind, beautiful person. How completely and utterly perfect.

_Too _perfect.

Perfect grades, perfect looks, and perfect athletic skills, based on the fact that he's the captain of a national-title tennis team. _I thought perfect people weren't supposed to exist… doesn't this guy have any faults? _I think. _Scary._

There are a total of seven other guys sitting at the table. A tall kid with his eyes closed holds a hamburger in one hand and a retractable pen in the other, scribbling something in a notebook. Redhead is reading the nutrition facts on a bag of chips, with a sensible-looking dark-skinned dude with a shaved head sighing at him every so often. A boy with purple hair and glasses eats his hamburger with a fork and knife.

I watch him cut off a bit of hamburger and place it carefully in his mouth before I remember that it is rude to stare. Whoops.

But still, you have to admit… that's kind of weird.

Niou appears and sits down directly across from me. "Hey," he greets the table. I notice he doesn't have a tray with him. Either he's not hungry, or he forgot his money. I hope it's the latter, because then I get to laugh at him.

I decide to talk to the shaved boy first, since he looks the most sensible out of the bunch. "Hello," I say. "I'm Koichi Emi. I'm hungry. And you?"

"I'm – I'm hungry, too," the boy says, startled.

I pause. "Great. What's your name, though?"

"Oh. Oh, right. I'm Kuwahara Jackal." He nods, holding out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah. Nice to meet you," I smile sociably.

"Um… this is Marui Bunta," he says, motioning to the redhead. He still looks slightly confused. Probably because some random girl – yeah, me – suddenly appeared and is sitting with them. "Renji is the smart-looking one with the notebook, and Yagyuu is the one with the glasses." Yagyuu and Renji nod in acknowledgement. Jackal begins to motion to Yukimura, but stops and blinks at me. "I'm really sorry, but who are you again?"

I grin. "Koichi Emi. I'm new to the school, from California. Nice to meet you."

As he smiles uncertainly back, someone joins us. He drops down in his seat before grinning widely at me. "Hello again, senpai," he says, taking a large bite out of his hamburger. "I missed having you on top of me."

Time stops as he continues to grin at me. I stare at him in disbelief, partly for the _nerve of this kid – who does he think he is? –_and partly because that was actually a pretty clever line.

Suddenly, I am completely aware of everyone staring at me. Niou's looks amusedly from me to Kirihara to me again. Sanada's eyebrows shoot up, eyes hard. Renji flips to an empty page of his notebook and clicks his retractable pen.

"Care to explain, Akaya?" Yukimura suggests icily. His eyes are steely.

"He's just kidding," I interrupt, shaking my head. "Silly Kiri-kun. Saying such idiotic things so early in the day_. Do you want me to kill you?"_ I say with a pleasant smile on my face.

"No, thank you," he says, smiling back.

I roll my eyes. "We just bumped into each other this morning and I wasn't looking where I was going and then I fell on top of him. _Accidentally._" I say, raising my eyebrows.

"Oh, _that's_what he meant," Jackal says, looking immensely relieved. "I mean, you're too young, Kirihara, for such… you know." He shakes his head, as if to chase away unnecessary thoughts. The tension at the table palpably lessens. "Anyway, you shouldn't do that to us. Couldn't you have just said so?"

"Well, what's the fun in that?" Kirihara asks innocently. I watch him curiously. Something about him is different. It's seems like… he's more… happy? Relaxed? No, it's something else. It's like… he's trying harder. Trying to impress everyone else. He's pretending. He's not the Kirihara I met this morning.

I turn away, only to see Niou watching me in amusement, munching on a French fry. I narrow my eyes at him, but he just smirks.

Why is he always smirking, anyway? It's like he's always self-satisfied. _I'm the best, I'm so cool, ha ha ha, you suck, and I'm eating a French fry, because that's how awesome I am._

Wait a second.

I thought he didn't have any food?

My head snaps down to the table, and sure enough, my tray has magically transported itself to the opposite side of the lunch table, making itself cozy in front of Niou. He picks up another fry and pops it in his mouth.

"Anyone tell you you're kind of slow?" he asks sweetly. He waves one of my fries at me and grins. "Because you know, you are." He dips a fry into _my_ketchup and licks it off.

Gross.

"Good one," I say flatly. "Give it back."

"Really?" he says, amused. "You want this back?" he offers the now-soggy Niou-spit-infested fry to me.

"God – How old are you, five?" I snap, grabbing for the tray.

He just shrugs, standing up. "I'll be at the courts if you need me."

"No one needs you!" I yell back maturely. I seethe, watching him leave. "What's his _deal?_"

"Maybe he's just having a bad day," Yagyuu suggests. I resist the urge to snort. _Or maybe he's just a jerk._ "I think I'll go, too. Please excuse me," he continues.

"Ah, wait, I'll go, too," Renji calls out, shutting his notebook and placing all his trash on his Styrofoam tray.

"Why don't we all go?" Yukimura suggests. "We'll all be going out next period, anyway, so we can all just start warming up already." He pauses. "Koichi-san can come too, if she would like," he adds politely, not bothering to look at me before making his way toward Sanada.

I blink at him, walking beside Sanada and conversing about something intensely. He hasn't looked at me since Kirihara sat down and shared his idiocy. Perturbed, I give Marui one more smile before bounding up to Yukimura, whose long legs give him a lot more mileage than me. I fast-walk beside him, and he finally glances at me.

"Hello," I say amiably. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," he replies, equally amiably.

We walk – he walks, I skip – in an awkward silence for a few seconds, and just when I am about to say something else inane and conversational, he calls out to someone else.

"Renji, I need to talk to you about the training schedule…"

And then he is gone.

I frown in frustration, stopping and glowering at Yukimura and Renji's backs, growing further and further away from me. "_That's _not irritating, then," I remark in annoyance. "That's fine, Yukimura. I don't mind, really."

"Is he mad at you?" Marui asks, coming up behind me. "Buchou _never_ just leaves people like that. You must have done something really bad."

"…You're really good at cheering people up, you know that?"

* * *

"_Whoa_."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," Kirihara nods.

"Why are they so… _big?"_

Marui snickers inappropriately. Jackal sighs.

"Our courts are larger than most because the district budget gave us some extra money for reconstruction. Not only does it improve our working conditions during practice, but it earns us better publicity, which also gets us sponsors," someone says from behind us. I spin around to find myself face-to-chest with Renji. "They're counting on a lot from our team this year, having won the national title two years in a row."

Renji doesn't have much of a prideful air when he says that, either, like Yukimura. It's almost as if they think it's _obvious_ that that will happen. It's like, _of course_ they're going to win nationals, and _of course _they're the best tennis team in the entire country. No questions asked.

That's some pretty big confidence.

* * *

I watch, from my seat on the coach's bench, as the eight guys I met during lunch transform into different people right before my eyes. They rally against each other in pairs, hitting over to the opposite side of the court with such ferocity that I find myself wincing at the loud _thwack_ sound they make. It's a wonder that their arms don't break with each return, but they hit it over. Every time.

_No wonder they're so confident, _I think. _No wonder they won for the past two years._Because they're amazing.

I've watched Yukimura practically the entire time. At first, it was only to try to figure out if he was mad at me or not – goddamn, stupid poker faces – and then, it was to see how good he was to be captain of the best tennis team in the country. Now, I'm watching him because I can't take my eyes off of him.

I never knew tennis was like this. I thought you just picked up a racket and hit the ball over the net, and that was it… but that is _not _it. These guys don't just hit the ball over the net, they smash it in and then challenge their opponent to hit it back. And then there's Yukimura. He takes the ball, and he hits it, and when he does, it's like the ball is possessed – it becomes perfect… just like him.

Kirihara comes up to the bench, sweaty and looking just completely alive, and grabs a water bottle from the cardboard box labeled 'water.' "Hey," he says, dropping down next to me and wiping his face with a towel. "What's up?"

"_He's_ up," I answer, nodding towards Yukimura returning his opponent's hits with frighteningly admirable ease. "Who _is_ that?"

Kirihara squints in his direction. "What are you talking about?" he says, looking at me like I'm deranged. "That's Yukimura-buchou. You met him this morning. He's in your class. He – he was sitting _next _to you during _lunch_!" He stares at me, looking slightly afraid, as he unscrews the cap to his water bottle. "Are you feeling okay?"

I sigh. "It was meant to be a… you know, exaggeration. Stop looking at me like I'm insane." I turn back to Yukimura, just as he tosses a ball into the air and serves it over. "I just mean… he's like a completely different person."

"Oh, _that_. Good to hear your short-term memory is still functioning normally," Kirihara says before chugging down his water, liquid dribbling messily down his chin. He leans back against the back of the bench, placing the bottle carefully next to him so it doesn't spill, and nods again. "But yeah, he _is_ totally different on the courts." He pauses thoughtfully. "I think we all are, actually. None of them," he says, nodding in the direction of the courts, where everyone else is still rallying, "are having a serious match right now, so it's kind of mild, but we all… change when we play."

"Change?" I say, urging him to continue. He doesn't explain, though.

"Well, except maybe Niou-senpai. He's the same everywhere. A trickster."

"A… A trickster?" I try the word out, and I can't help but to think it makes him sound like a jester. I imagine him decked out in jester garb, like Medieval times. Whoa.

Kirihara grins. "You have to watch him play seriously to see him do anything actually worth seeing, but when he does, you're never disappointed."

Just then, we see Niou making his way towards us, his silver ponytail flipping around in the breeze like a ribbon. He grabs Kirihara's water bottle and gulps down the rest of it before he can react. Kirihara gives him a dirty look, but makes no move to stop him.

"You're paying for my lunch." I hold my palm out expectantly, waggling my fingers for extra effect. "Come on, pay up."

He smirks at me, tossing the bottle into the cardboard box labeled 'recycle' in an impressively perfect arc. "I should definitely be on the basketball team," he says, whistling at his own achievement. "I mean, did you see that gorgeous three-pointer?"

"Yes, well played, Niou," I say in mock adoration. "Tooooo cool."

Niou pauses, looking at me in amusement as he picks up a fresh new water bottle from the box. "You know," he says, opening it, "I'm disappointed in your very sub-par insults."

I open my mouth to reply, slightly miffed, but he continues.

"And why am I just 'Niou'? You give Yukimura and everybody else an honorific, but not me? I mean, you even gave _him_ an honorific," he says, nodding pointedly at Kirihara. Kirihara looks slightly offended, but simultaneously curious.

"Honorific. Noun. Derived from: honor. As you are maybe the least honorable person I have met in my life so far – minus, maybe, the math teacher – no, you do _not_ get an honorific."

He smirks. "Fine, _Emily,_" he says audaciously, and then just turns around to watch Jackal play against Marui.

I try not to look too happy about hearing my first name for the first time in a week. Since I've arrived in Japan, it's been Koichi this, Koichi that, and it's taken all the willpower in my body to keep from screaming, 'my name is _Emily!_'

I already know I can't be happy here. It's physically impossible. I look up, and suddenly the world looks like hell – the sun is too hot, the bench is too hard, the ground is too wet from the rain, there are boxes of bottled water everywhere, I don't know what anyone around me is thinking, and the freaking tennis balls are making loud _thwack _noises.

I close my eyes and try not to cry.

"…Hey. Hey," someone is mumbling. "Are you okay?"

I blink in surprise. I thought Niou was wrapped up in Marui and Jackal's game, the way his head whips back and forth, watching the neon green ball in complete concentration. When I look at him, he doesn't even appear to be paying any attention to me, but the question was definitely directed at me. I just know. His voice was too soft for anyone but me to hear.

"Yeah," I say, equally quietly. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

His gaze flickers towards me, then back. "Strange. Am I losing my touch, or was there not a hint of sarcasm in that statement?"

I smirk.

Yukimura is the first to come back after Kirihara and Niou, signaling the random second-year he was playing against—okay, more like _teaching_ how to play—to stop the game. He hasn't even broken a sweat. He sits down next to Kirihara, two places away from me, and I decide to settle this once and for all. I stand up so fast that Kirihara jumps in surprise.

"Hey," I say casually as I make my way to the seat next to Yukimura. "Your voice alright?"

"My voice, Koichi-san?" Yukimura repeats serenely, looking at me straight-on for the first time in what seems to be forever. "I believe it's working perfectly fine, why do you ask?"

"Because you're not saying anything to me," I say. "I hate being ignored, and I think you're being unfair, the way you're treating me like I only half-exist when I did _nothing _wrong–"

"_Excuse me_," he cuts in with his sharp voice. "But there seems to be some kind of misunderstanding. When exactly have I ignored you?"

I blink, taken aback. I had this whole speech-mode thing planned, see, and it kind of takes me a while to get back into listening-slash-getting-scolded mode. So I just kind of stood in front of him, looking blankly down at his perfect, saintly features. "I—you, uh, ignored me when… when…"

"Exactly, Koichi-san. I have never ignored you. If you spoke to me, I answered. I don't see where the problem is. It seems as if you are simply vying for my attention when it is not owed nearly as certainly as you expect it. If you happen to be referring to my reason for being disapproving of your recent actions, I believe that can be easily explained by the fact that you have caused unnecessary dramatic tension and have chosen to disregard a… logical path of action."

I swallow.

"Besides that, Koichi-san, if you must know, I am also feeling wary of your interactions with the youngest of our team, Kirihara. If you wouldn't mind, please try to refrain from distracting him from practice. He is problematic enough as it is. Now if you excuse me, free period is ending – and therefore, practice is ending. We need to get the equipment put away. Then we need to get to our next class."

He continues to look into my eyes. Even though he is seated and I am standing and _I_should be the one that feels stronger and bigger than him, I've never felt smaller in my life. I feel surprised and shocked and confused and frighteningly close to tears. All I can do is stare into those sharp eyes and nod.

Satisfied, he smiles at me, and I watch in horrified amazement as he visibly transforms. His eyes soften, his mouth curves, the palpable tension in the air disappears. Then he turns around and walks away, as if nothing has happened.

Were his eyes always like that? I swallow, unable to shake the feeling of being a nobody, a nothing, a failure. For that infinitely long moment, it seemed like Yukimura was gone, replaced by a murderous, cold-hearted being.

_A doppelganger?_ I think, then shake my head. Nothing that simple. That was Yukimura-kun, just him, in all his honest-to-goodness true self.

* * *

ARGH THIS IS THE WORST CHAPTER EVER WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD AND IT'S SO BORING AND LONG AND OOC AND DUMB AND I'M SORRY, DEAR READERS. VERY SORRY.

-cries-

P.S: MOAR MUSIK: jukebox the ghost (album: EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN). NOW. SO GOOD.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Nothing not mine is mine. Yo.

**Annoyingly Long A/N:**

(one) Um. So. Well. Since turquoiseconverse is a bitchbitch, she forgot to acknowledge her fabulous beta **Neon Genesis **for the PAST TWO CHAPTERS. OOOOOPS. **Neon Genesis **rocks my socks off! And also _your _socks off, for that matter. Thanks to an awesome beta!

(two) I know you're doubtin' and hatin' on the inside right now, but I _promise_ you this piece actually _does_ have a plot. I PROMISE YOU.

(three) And: I LOVE ROONEY. AND TWO DOOR CINEMA CLUB. listen, please.

(four) Hey, is the 'French' in French fries capitalized?

(five) And finally… REVIEWS are LOVE.

(six) PAGE BREAKS AREN'T WORKING. FJKDSAHLGJKE;ASKFLSDJFA.

* * *

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter three.**

* * *

"Don't shoot… don't shoot! Please, I'm begging you…I can't die now…! I – I have a family!"

"Nope, sorry. Think of it as revenge. I'm a big believer in karma, you see, and karma has no mercy on the evil. Namely, you." I smirk evilly as I poke the barrel of the gun at his head. It lolls back for a second, then snaps back, like a bobblehead. "Yes, Kirihara, you're going to die, right here, right now. Honestly, you should've been nicer to me." I pause dramatically. "And by the way, that 'I have a family' line only works when you're the father. Keep that in mind next time you beg for mercy…"

The gun clicks loudly.

"Oh wait, there won't _be_ a next time, because you're going to _die_."

Sweat drips down the side of his face as the cold metal point of the gun presses against his temple. "Don't… shoot…" he whimpers for the last time.

_BOOM_!

"…Aaaand, you're dead. So how was heaven? Ooh, sorry, I meant hell," I say innocently, tossing the plastic pink gun back into its holder on the game machine. Kirihara doesn't answer; instead, he just stares in shock and disbelief at the huge screen, where the words 'WINNER: BEAUTIF' and 'LOSER: KIRIHAR' alternately flash in red. The custom-name option left room for only seven letters, which I must say is the _randomest, dumbest_ number of letters possible, and unfortunately neither 'Beautiful' (that was me) nor 'Kirihara' (that was, well, Kirihara) fit within seven letters.

"I lost," he groans. "I lost. I lost? I _lost_."

"Oh, _snap!"_ Marui inserts randomly.

"You lost," I confirm. "But still, I assure you that you are still my favorite kouhai, no matter how much of a _loser_ you are."

"This isn't possible." Kirihara eyes me challengingly. "You do know I just went easy on you because you're my senpai, right?" he says, trying to gain back some dignity. It's to be expected, I guess. After all, I have just beaten him at his favorite video game in his favorite arcade.

(Never mind that I used to play this exact game all the time on Rachel's PlayStation. Kirihara, of course, does not have to know this.)

Marui, who has been observing from the sidelines, laughs evilly. "Hey, Akaya _lost!"_he announces to the room gleefully.

Kirihara glares at Marui's hyper form. "Shut _up_!"

Marui makes a face. "_And_ he's a rude, sore loser," he adds as he walks away.

"I cannot accept this," Kirihara declares as he shakes his head in denial, digging through his pockets in search for another coin to push into the money slot. "Hey, Jackal!" he calls out to the Brazilian. "Lend me some money. I'm all out."

"How dramatically do you think the world would change if you spent this money on books instead?" Yagyuu speculates.

"It would have to be a parallel world," Marui answers. "And even if he did, we'd probably all just assume he'd developed a mental disease and take him to the hospital."

I laugh, glancing over at Kirihara to see his reaction. He looks oddly happy. I don't know about him, seriously—he's probably the weirdest of the bunch. I always feel like he's happiest when he's being bullied by the tennis team… which makes no sense at all, because who _likes_ being bullied? Maybe he's just an attention whore.

"Has the word 'please' ever been inputted to your brain?" Sanada inserts to the conversation. He stands stiffly at the side of the room, apparently too cool for video games. I don't even know why he came; he stands out like a sore thumb in this arcade. In my personal opinion, Sanada looks like he hasn't ever had fun in his entire life.

"_Please_," Kirihara adds belatedly to Jackal.

Jackal shakes his head as he hands over some coins. "I thought we gave up trying to teach Akaya manners," he mutters. "After a total of about five billion failures."

"Seventy-six," Renji corrects. "And that's only the total number of official experimental conducts _after_ his first year, in which an estimated forty-three percent more tries were attempted, and also not taking into account the unofficial attempts in which the results were _not_ recorded."

"What's he talking about?" Marui wonders aloud, depositing some coins into a machine.

I scan the room, feeling strangely content. Everyone except for Niou and Yukimura is present—Yukimura, because he had to go to the hospital for a checkup, or something (I didn't ask the specifics, considering I was still in shock when he left), and no one knows where Niou went. What a sketchball. Reportedly, he hasn't even left the school building. Not that I care, or anything.

Renji is watching Jackal kick some zombie butt—Jackal's unexpectedly good at video games—with a very calculating look on his face, as if analyzing every game feature. Sanada just looks extremely frustrated by everything around him, especially Marui, who is currently trying to nag him into playing a round of something, anything, with him. Yagyuu stands off to the side, giving random gaming tips to Kirihara, who hasn't even started playing anything yet.

I'm surprised by how everyone seems to fit together so well, even though at first glance, they wouldn't seem like they would. They're all so different, yet they all have something another doesn't, like a jigsaw puzzle. I used to have that with my friends.

My _friends._

I glance around the room once more, but this time with a criticizing eye. Are _these_ my friends now? A group of guys that seem to have nothing in common except tennis? Where do I fit in? I don't even _play_ tennis.

Suddenly, I don't know why I'm here. The content feeling I had just three minutes ago disappears.

I sigh, wiping some wet grass off my converse. I don't belong… _here._

"Are you leaving?" Renji asks me.

I blink, startled. "Uh… I don't think so…" I tilt my head. "Do you want me to?" I question carefully.

"No, you're free to stay," he assures me. "It just looked like you wanted to leave."

I pause. "…Did I?" I say finally, not as surprised as I should be. I never was good at hiding my emotions. "I mean… no, I'm having fun."

He nods again, but his expression is unsettling. He knows, of course. That I don't belong here. What was I thinking? _Sanada's_ not the one that sticks out like a sore thumb.

"Dammit!" Marui suddenly exclaims from across the room. "What the—how are you even so good at this?" he demands of Sanada, who walks away after placing his gun neatly in the holder. "I bet you practice when we're not here, don't you? Fooling all of us with that 'oh, I study all the time because I'm too cool for games and stuff' aura? That's cheap, you jerk, but it doesn't even _matter_ because _I_ saw right through your—hey, are you ignoring me? Don't ignore me."

Sanada ignores him. "This is a waste of time," he announces. "If you have the energy to play such ridiculous games, practice some more." Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he pushes open the door and walks out without a glance back. Then, as if there was some unspoken invitation, the rest of the team slowly filters out.

Only Marui, Kirihara, and I are left now, staring stunned and annoyed at the door and the now-empty room. "How does he _do_that?" muses Marui, shaking his head half in annoyance, half in awe, but he picks up his own bag dejectedly and nods at us. "See you tomorrow, then," he says, before turning and disappearing out the door.

We watch him leave. "If he was so upset about everyone conforming with Sanada," I say slowly, "then why did he follow him?"

Kirihara shakes his head. "I think it's kind of inevitable, with our team," he says. "I mean, buchou's and Sanada-fukubuchou's words are law. No one defies, you know?"

_No, I don't know. At all. You guys are insane. And live in a dictatorship._

I look at Kirihara. "Can you do me a favor and _not_ leave, please?" I request pitifully, because I feel like dirt and Kirihara's probably the best friend I've made so far.

He considers me. "Sure, but you owe me," he says. "Nothing's free in the world. And I'm probably missing something important."

Rolling my eyes, I pick up my bag and play with the strap. "Kirihara," I say suddenly, "Why am I here?"

He makes a face. "Uh…" he mumbles, scratching his head. "You mean like, on earth, and stuff? Because I'm really not good with that philosophical shit. As far as I'm concerned, my role on earth is to eat a lot, sleep a lot, and breathe a lot. And play tennis."

_And play tennis._ What is with athletes and their sports? It's like they can't live _without_ them. Eat. Sleep. Breathe. I can understand that—those are necessities to _live._ But—but _tennis._ Why is _tennis_included in that list? "What's so great about tennis, anyway?" I demand, throwing the strap down to the floor. Kirihara looks at me with a very _WTF_ expression. "I mean—just, honestly speaking, it's about the most boring sport there is. Okay, minus_golf_ or _cricket_ or whatever. What is the _point?_"

"Tennis is—" He stops, looks at me. "I _like_tennis," he says simply. "And we're good at it. We're going to be number one in the nation. We're going to win nationals, _again_, and I'm going to be a part of that team." He shrugs. "That's it. What's it to you?"

_What's it to you?_

I slump down in my chair. "God, Kiri-kun—I'm sorry." I shake my head, rubbing my face. "I've just had a bad day, you know?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I get it."

I pick up my bag again, fingering the strap. "Then can I ask you something else?"

He shrugs in response.

I pause thoughtfully, wondering how to word this. "So… you know about the tennis practice we had – _you_had, I mean – after lunch?" I cross my arms, remembering Yukimura. "You told me that everyone changes when they play." He nods, looking bored. "Do you do it on purpose?"

"What?"

"Do you do it on purpose?" When he continues to look blank, I elaborate. "The other side, I mean. Your other side. Does it come out involuntarily or do you, like, _bring_ it out?"

He looks at me like he's trying to figure me out. I squirm uncomfortably. "I don't know," he says finally. "I don't really think about it that much. It just… happens. I _guess_ I could stop it, but I've never really tried to. There's never really been a _reason_ to try."

"It doesn't… _scare_ you?" I ask curiously.

He laughs. "Scare?" he repeats, like it's a foreign word. "We're not _scared_ of anything. The only thing we're maybe even the _teensiest_ scared about is losing, but it'll never happen, so there's no _need_ to be scared_._" He shakes his head, and again, I'm overwhelmed by the utter confidence he has for his team.

I mean, it's just _tennis._ I don't understand. And maybe I'll never understand, but… but I guess it doesn't matter whether I understand or not. Who am I to judge what they care about? I don't know them, they don't know me, and therefore in theory, neither side should care about the other.

"Anyway, it's _weird_," I declare. "Did you see Mura-kun today with me? I really thought I was going to die, right then and there. You know, 'girl beat to death with a tennis racket, tennis ball found stuffed down throat, squeezed to death between ball baskets'—"

"That's _morbid!"_Kirihara exclaims disgustedly. "It wasn't even that bad with you. I mean, _man,_" he continues, "you should see him in a serious match. That is some real shit right there. That's just… I don't even know how to explain it. It's crazy." As he speaks, I'm fascinated to see what seems like the slightest shimmer of awe in his eyes.

I nod. "It's as if… as if…" I struggle to select the right words from a suddenly incredibly limited vocabulary.

"As if you were nothing," Kirihara finishes for me.. "As if you aren't worth anything. You don't even want to go on living, because you're so lame, so worthless, so much of a waste of space."

I blink. "Well, no. It wasn't that bad. I just felt really horrible about myself. And I didn't want to go against him anymore, no matter what. You know?"

"That's what I was _saying_, but of _course_you didn't listen," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "I _told_ you, you had the mild case. If you were good enough at tennis to actually go up against him in a match… it'd take _willpower_ to not want to commit suicide when it was over and he butchered your ass."

We sit in silence, watching people walk by the shop window. The streets are shaded with an ugly gray from the still-present rain clouds.

I turn to look at Kirihara, and the dim lighting casts shadows of his mass of hair over his face. "Thank you," I say earnestly. "For, you know, staying, and talking, and stuff."

He shakes his head. "You owe me _double_ now."

I grin. "Let's go home."

* * *

As Kirihara lives in the complete opposite direction as me, he went the other way. And now I'm alone. What else is new?

_God, Em,_I chastise myself. _Stop the self-pity already._

Patting my pockets for my cell phone, I take it out and flip through my pictures, reminiscing the Good Old Times. And then, I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn around. "Hello?" I call out. My voice sounds incredibly loud, and it fills my ears. The footsteps stop. "Do you need something?"

No answer.

"If you're stalking me or planning on kidnapping me, don't try it. I didn't take two years' worth of self-defense classes for nothing." (Two weeks, actually, but does Creeper have to know that?)

With that, I turn around and continue walking.

Not even five seconds before the footsteps begin again.

I glance up at the sky, but the tree branches obscure my view. The branches look suddenly very sinister and alive, brushing against each other, the leaves making creepy _whooshwhooshwhoosh_ sounds. The clouds cover the moon.

I swallow.

"Go away," I say, this time without even stopping or turning around. "I mean it. You'll be sorry."

The footsteps get louder, closer.

"Seriously!" I yell boldly, but there is no denying it now; I am _scared._

There's the downside to having the Strong Personality; you always have to _be strong._

I slowly, discreetly begin quickening my pace, gripping my backpack to my chest like it's my lifeline.

The footsteps get faster. Closer. I begin to turn around to look…

And then it happens.

A hand whips out, grabbing my wrist in an iron grip. I open my mouth to scream, but the other hand wraps around my mouth so I can't.

"Mmmf! Mmffff!" comes out instead. I try to turn to see whoever-it-is's face, but he won't let me. My eyes are practically bugging out of my sockets, and I feel like crying and screaming and kicking and biting, and all that's going through my head is one sentence.

_I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die…_

This is the kind of thing that you always figure happens to someone else. I remember seeing those newspaper headlines that say 'Girl Found Murdered in Woods' and thinking, wow, sucks for them, and now someone _else_ is going to look at _my_ newspaper headline with _my_ death thinking, wow, sucks for her, and you know, it _does suck for me._

"Mmmmmfff!" I scream into his hand. I shake my head violently, trying to throw him off, but he doesn't budge. In fact, the way my body is pressed against his chest, I can feel the way he's silently laughing.

Laughing.

Great. I'm going to be murdered in the woods by a _sadist._

When I finally stop thrashing to take a deep breath and form a different strategy, as evidently the current one isn't working, he leans in close and whispers in my ear:

"Surprise, Emi."

* * *

HEY LOOK, IT'S A REALLY BAD CLIFFHANGER!

...mrfgh.

Okay guys, I know you hate me now, because it's been a full four months since my last update, and then you waited and waited and waited and then got THIS piece of crap, and I'm really really sorry. Bleh.

A/N: THIS CHAPTER SUCKS. WHOOPSBOOMCRASHBANG. CLICK THE BUTTON BELOW ANYWAY. YEAHTHANKS.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimedddddddd.

(one) um. I'm sorry. really, really sorry. It's been over a year hahaahahahahaahahaaha (delirious laughter)

(two) fair warning: unbeta'd because I was too scared and ashamed to personally send this to my genius beta Neon Genesis, who is currently writing the most ingenious POT fanfic on earth. It's sooooo goooooooood tho

* * *

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter four.**

* * *

I feel my body relax, but not in a comfortable way; it practically collapses from relief. My legs buckle under me and it is all Niou can do to keep me from crashing face-flat onto the dewy grass.

"Whoa," he says. "Are you okay?"

He's still laughing.

"Do you _think_ I'm okay?" I retort. This time, I do shake him off, violently. I whirl around at him, glaring with raw anger. "What is _wrong_ with you, you stupid, sadistic _asshole_?" I snarl. I would have screamed it at him, but I'm too busy trying not to die.

"I see you're the type of person that swears when frustrated," he observes. "Swearing and pauses between words. How cute."

"Would you just shut _up!_" I stagger to one of the trees and lean back against it, feeling the beautifully inanimate and un-dangerous bark on my skin. "I," I hiss, "hate, you, a _lot_."

He looks at me, looking slightly miffed. "Well, you don't have to be so straight up about it," he mumbles, pretending to be devastated. "You could say something a little bit more euphemized – that's not a word – or is it?" he ponders by himself.

I just stand there, staring at him, at a loss for words for the utter ridiculousness of the situation. "What—just, Niou, _why?"_ I sputter finally. "I was literally two seconds away from kicking you in the balls."

"That's why I released you beforehand, see?" he explains matter-of-factly. Finally noticing my death glare, he rolls his eyes. "Look, stop staring at me like that. You just looked so depressed. I wanted to spice up your day. That's what I do… I'm a life-spicer-upper." He pauses. "Besides, you were just _there._"

I nod, smile. Then, without warning, I stomp over to him, stare directly into those eyes – those stupid, _stupid_ silver eyes – and punch him in the gut.

* * *

"Hey," I say, looking at him apathetically. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Niou wheezes. "Just fantastic." He staggers next to me as he make our way down the dark street. Although I hate his guts right now—as exemplified by the way I just punched the living daylights out of them, haha—I have to admit that it's a lot better to be walking around_with_ someone rather than by myself. "Anyone tell you that you pack a very powerful punch?" he mutters.

"Well, I've never had to punch anyone before, so no," I reply pointedly.

He smirks. "Touché."

"Why are you following me, by the way?" I ask suddenly, eyeing him sideways. "It's not out of, like… _chivalry_, is it? Because if it is – "

Niou actually snorts. "Me, chivalrous? What, did you think I was following you so you wouldn't get scared or something?" He pats my head condescendingly. "Don't kid yourself. I don't care about you."

I pause. "Great," I mumble irritably. "That's a really nice thing to say." I push his arm off of my head. "And would you stop that? It's annoying."

He rolls his eyes, and I make a mental tally for every time Niou has rolled his eyes today. He could be a girl, seriously, with that attitude. "Your personality needs some work, Koichi," he says solemnly.

I almost choke at the irony. "_My_—"

"Yeah. Your personality needs some work." He cocks his head sideways, narrowing his eyes. "You…"

I shift uncomfortably. "Me _what?_ You have a problem with me?" I demand defensively.

He smirks. "You're just one of the most annoying people I have ever met. That's all."

My mouth drops open. "That is so – I can't believe – _You're_ one to talk! Can I make a list of the annoying things you did today? _Can I?_"

"You most certainly can," he says in the most patronizing way possible. "You can do anything you want."

I whirl around, stomping toward my house. "I'm _done_ with you."

"Oh, leaving so soon?" I can hear him laughing behind me. "Well, thanks for walking me home, anyway." To my disbelief, he stops in front of a house – the house directly next to mine. He smiles loftily at me, tone oozing with fake sincerity. "I'm so glad I wasn't alone. I get so _scared_, you know, of kidnappers or stalkers _coming up behind me._"

I grind my teeth. I look at him, then at the house, back at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You wish, darling." Niou waves his hand lazily in the air, gesturing vaguely to the rest of the neighborhood. "But you and me? We're neighbors now."

"You _can't_ live here," I hiss. "_I_ live here."

"And the _whole world_ just _revolves_ around our little princess here, doesn't it?" he replies lazily. "I'm sorry, did our little princess have a bad day? Did things not go perfectly as planned? Does our baby want a kiss to make it better?"

"Don't pretend you know me, you asshole!" I yell, on the verge of tears.

He smirks again.

And with that, he turns around and disappears, leaving me fuming and alone.

* * *

"I'm quitting school," I announce the moment I step through the front door. "It sucks, I hate it, people are mean, and I don't speak Japanese."

"She said, _in Japanese_," my dad says pointedly. He pauses. "Your mom made cookies, if that helps anything."

I groan. "But Mom's cookies are – "

"_Delicious,"_he interjects keenly as my mother dances into the room, a black-bottomed cookie in each hand. "Aren't they _delicious?_" he asks me.

I stare in distaste. "Whatever," I mumble, suddenly drained of energy. I kick off my shoes and drag my bag behind me toward the stairs before spinning around abruptly.

"You didn't leave the oven on," my dad assures comfortingly.

I roll my eyes. "No, I just thought I'd give you fair warning that I wasn't kidding when I said I'm quitting school, okay?" I nod smugly. "I'm serious. I'm quitting school. I hate everyone, and they're going to get what's coming."

"What's coming?" Mom asks, crunching into a cookie.

"A zombie apocalypse?" my dad offers. He smiles at me. "Em," he says gently. "Just give Rikkai a chance, okay? We all have bad days. Try to make friends, join a few clubs. You might find out you like Rikkai."

I snort, spinning around and making my way to my room.

* * *

"Day two, Rachel," I sob the next morning as I trudge begrudgingly down the sidewalk toward Hell. "I can't deal with this, I can't deal with this, I can't _deal_ with this – "

"_Jesus, Em, would you shut up? Give it a week, or something."_ Rachel snaps over the phone. There's loud music behind her – I think it's LMFAO. Typical. _"We didn't raise you to be an asshole crybaby now, did we?"_

"_She can't help it,"_I hear Craig inject. _"She was_born_that way._"

"Oh my god," I gasp. "Are you guys – are you guys partying without me? How could you? How_could_ you betray me this way?"

"_Oh, you're right, we should have held our party in Japan. How silly of us_," Rachel says. "_Now would you_man up_, already? You're never going to gain friends with that attitude. Everyone will hate you and you will die single and alone."_

"That's totally fine," I scoff. "I hate everyone here anyway."

"_What? Give me that phone."_ I hear loud rustling as Craig steals the phone away from my best friend. _"Japanese people are hot, aren't they?"_ he asks. "_I thought Japanese people were hot. Aren't there any hot people at your school?"_

"_You are so gay and I love it,"_ Rachel tells him.

"At my school? Hot people?" I blink. Well, there's the tennis team. Obviously. They're all attractive, really. Even –

Suddenly, I feel my cell phone disappear from my hand. I blink in alarm at my empty grip, before spinning around at the sound of Niou's silky voice. "Oh yes, there's _plenty_of hot people at Rikkai," Niou assures him with a suggestive smirk. I'm so amused at the very _thought_of _Niou_and _Craig_ – who are so different it's ridiculous – _directly conversing_ that I don't even bother to move. "Me, especially."

"_Oh holy shit, Em, who is that?_" Rachel demands. _"That's a boy. Is he hot? Who is it? Em! I don't speak Japanese, goddammit!"_

"No one! God!" I burst out laughing, grabbing for the phone. "Just some asshole. Niou."

"_Seriously, his name is Neo? Like from The Matrix? That is so fucking cool. You guys better be best friends, okay, so when we visit you he can show us like Karate and stuff – "_

"You guys are such losers!" I laugh. "Bye." I giggle at the screen before ending the call and putting it away my pocket. I eye him. "My friends," I explain unnecessarily. "From LA."

"I figured. Also, I'm not an idiot."

"Could've fooled me."

We walk in silence for a while. "I can't believe we have to walk together to school every day now. People will get the wrong idea, like we're husband and wife and stuff. In shoujo manga, you know how that happens a lot?"

He smirks at me. "Em," he says audaciously, "Put away your manga and hit the books. Your math teacher will be expecting it."

I make a face at the thought. "Hey, Niou, listen." I bite my lip, unbelieving that _I'm_the one making peace right now. "So I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Yeah?" He blinks, eyebrows raised, clearly not having expected this. Then his expression floods with understanding. "Oh, did you actually fall in love with me? Is that what this is? I'm not going to go out with you. Fair warning."

"No one's asking, asshole," I snap. "I just don't want to make enemies with you." I look up at the sky, which is – contrarily to yesterday – clear and sunny. "I was doing a lot of thinking yesterday, right? And this is what I've decided. I'm giving this school one week. One week to give me sufficiently substantial reasons why I shouldn't blow it up with an atom bomb."

Niou eyes me. "What happens if Rikkai doesn't succeed in satisfying your highness?"

"Then," I say seriously, "I blow it up with an atom bomb."

He smirks. "I'll miss our hateful banter."

"You'll get it back in a week. And I'm sure as hell that you won't be one of the reasons, so you don't have to bother trying to be nice."

"Wasn't going to."

"Bastard."

"That's more like it." He pauses. "So what brought this on?"

I grin. "I'm glad you asked! I have this perfect explanation. So you know in court cases for assault, it's only okay when the criminal had a sufficient reason to attack the other guy? For example, like, self-defense? That's what I'm doing. I'm giving Rikkai enough time to ruin my life enough so that I can explain away my counterattack with 'self-defense'. Ingenious, no?"

"I can't believe you called your _friends_ losers."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, Niou." I hold my hand out. "Truce?"

He takes it with a suspicious smirk. "For now."

* * *

"Whoa, whoa – " Kirihara steps back and stares at us, shading his eyes from the sun. "Something's not right. The world's tilting, guys, I can feel it – "

"Do you ever shut up?" Marui demands. "Seriously. He should shut up, shouldn't he, Mura?"

Yukimura just smiles his perfect smile. God, I forgot how gorgeous he is. "Good morning, Koichi-san," he acknowledges. I smile uncertainly back, simultaneously relieved that he's back to being friendly and terrified at the thought of our last interaction yesterday.

"Like you should be talking, Marui-senpai," Kirihara mutters, offended. "Anyway. Since when are_you_ guys… _friends_?"

"We've joined forces on the basis of our common interest in murdering you in your sleep," Niou offers. "Em and I have realized that, together, we have precisely what's necessary to perform the action of killing you in the maximally painful method."

"Em? _Em?_ Did you just call her _Em?"_Kirihara snickers. "_Niou_ and _Em_, what are you, husband and wife now—"

Niou's eyes glint as he steps up, towering over his idiot underclassman. "_Niou_? Care to repeat that, little kouhai-chan?_"_

"Niou, um, senpai. Niou-senpai. I'm late for class. Bye." Kirihara turns around and rushes away without glancing back.

"Gotta keep 'em in line or they get out of hand," Niou says, self-satisfied.

I begin to turn to look at Yukimura, realizing that this entire time, I've been imagining nothing but what Yukimura's eyes will be like. Hard as steel, like yesterday? I don't know if I can handle that. My day is at a perfect high so far. But before I can see him, I hear my name.

"Koichi! Koichi Emi!"

I spin around, suddenly face-to-see with a ridiculously gorgeous girl waving and running enthusiastically toward me. She offers a pearly-white toothpaste-commercial smile, and her medium-length hair is pulled back in a thick braid behind her. "Uh, yeah?" I say, clearly successful in showing my outstanding intelligence.

"God, I've been looking for you everywhere. It's insane, though, everyone I asked knew where you were," she exclaims. "You're famous, did you know that?"

"It's because I'm perfect. I get it a lot," I say. "What's up?"

"I'm Shinta Yuzui, student body president. It's my responsibility to make sure all students are enrolled in at least one club, but it seems you don't meet those requirements. You're new, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah."

"We sent you a notice reminding you to join a club. I'm assuming you didn't get it, but it's mandatory and we're promoting involvement and interest. Here's a packet with a list of extracurriculars. Get back to me ASAP, okay? I'm in the homeroom next door, but I'll be bugging you about this nonstop anyway. Thanks!"

And then she disappears.

"Good luck participating in a club for one week," Niou snickers. "You sure you don't want to extend your deadline? It would give me more time to think of awful things to do to you."

"What deadline?" Yukimura asks curiously. "Should I know about this?"

"Uh… no, it's not important," I say nervously.

He eyes me, then looks to Niou. "Niou?" he asks pointedly.

"No, seriously, it's not important," he replies. "She wasn't kidding. It's literally the least important thing you'll ever hear."

"Thanks, that's really nice," I snap. "It was a _life decision_, okay, so I think that's _pretty important._"

"Oh, I see you've accepted the invitation to _dig your own grave_. Be my guest, dear," Niou says, rolling his eyes, before turning back to Yukimura. "She's just made some decision to be a _good girl_ for a week. But no worries, she'll be back to being everyone's favorite disciplinary failure in seven days."

"I hate you."

"Not for another week," he sings back.

"How's your gut? Does it miss my fist?"

"You should be a boxer. I see success down that path for you. Is there a boxing club at Rikkai? Check your extracurricular book."

"You two are quite close now, I see," Yukimura says evenly. "I'm… glad to see that." Then he turns around and makes his way over to Sanada, who is busy skimming the next chapter of the biology textbook.

We stare silently at Yukimura's retreating back, and I shudder. His tone gets colder and colder with every word. "Holy shit, he's going to murder me," I whisper. "Why does he hate me?"

"Let me make you a quick list of things Yukimura hates," Niou says. "In other words, Survival Skills 101 at Rikkai. One: Yukimura hates not knowing things. Let him know everything."

"_Dammit I should've told him about the stupid deadline it wasn't even important and now he hates me – "_

"Two: Yukimura hates when the rest of the tennis team has lives. Do not let them interact with anyone that doesn't have to do with tennis."

"_Oh my god,_it's our _truce_. Truce cancelled_. Truce cancelled!"_

Thrusting the packet into my bag, I practically run to my seat. Without looking, I can feel Niou rolling his eyes at me. I don't know why, but I have that feeling again – the complete need for Yukimura to approve of me. I got it yesterday, too, but it's even stronger now – some combination of fear of his disapproval and desire to be accepted by him.

I sit in my seat, flipping through the booklet. _Photography. Law. Art. Travel. Music._ I sigh, none of them sparking my interest.

The chair in front of me scrapes across the floor, and someone sits down, setting their elbows on my desk. "Go away, Niou, I'm busy," I sigh.

I hear a melodious, girly laugh. Startled, I glance up to see not Niou, but Yuzui sitting there in his seat, chin in hand. "_Niou_?" she repeats, amused. "Quite familiar with one of the most popular kids in our grade, are you?"

"No – er… We're friends, is all."

"Did you know he's usually called 'Niou-sama' around here?" she asks conversationally. "And don't look now, but there are about fifteen girls in this classroom alone who want to kill you. Jealousy is a powerful force in this world, you know." She laughs, looking at my confused face. "Don't worry, they won't _actually_ do anything to you. Fear that their beloved _Niou-sama_ will hate them if they do anything remotely un-ladylike. So," she continues, "Are you joining the tennis team? Girls', of course."

I blink. "What? No, what makes you think that?"

"Oh, dude, you don't even know." She flips her bangs back, rolling her eyes. "You'd be surprised by how many girls want to join the boys' tennis team. They're idiots if they think the school will allow that, seriously. What part of 'boys' do they not understand? That's just like they're openly admitting that they're manly, you know?"

I laugh at the absurdity of our current conversation. "No, I mean – what makes you think I'm joining the _girls'_tennis team?"

"Oh…" she falters. "Um, I don't know. Because you're always with the tennis team, I guess. I mean," she shrugs. "You're the only other person who's not on the actual team that ever hangs out with them. You may not be aware, but it's a pretty big deal. The tennis team is really popular, see, but you just appeared and became best friends. Like a magician. And you don't hang out with anyone else."

"Oh wow," I gasp. "It's true, isn't it? _I have no friends._"

Yuzui laughs. "Want to be friends, Koichi Emi?" she offers.

"I'd love to be friends, Shinta Yuzui," I reply.

* * *

omg why am I physically incapable of ending chapters like a normal person omg what is this

kbye


	5. Chapter 5

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter five.**

* * *

After a long and painful day of classes followed by a lonely walk home – Niou had to "go somewhere to do things," as he helpfully put it – I find myself sitting in my room, staring blankly at my chemistry homework. It is arguably the most uninteresting piece of paper on the planet.

My hand involuntarily switches from drawing organic compounds to doodling flowers in the margins. I'm not good at many things, but if there was ever a competition for drawing flowers – which will surely develop in the near future, considering the obviously high demand for flower artistry as of late – I would be queen of the goddamn flower-aesthetic world.

I lift my pen from the paper and heave a huge sigh. I don't think I've ever been this bored in my life. I think I might even prefer being in angry-Yukimura's company than this.

I pause. No, probably not. Angry-Yukimura is probably the equivalent of psychological zombie apocalypse.

It's as I've moved on to doodling a dozen adorably tiny zombie-Yukimuras exploring my crudely-drawn brain that I notice my mother behind me.

"Em," she sighs. "What are you doing?"

"Uh—" I shove my drawing under my textbook. "I'm doing homework, Mom." I click my ballpoint pen and try to put on a Studious Face. Whatever that looks like. "It's urgent. You know, due tomorrow."

She rolls her eyes. "That's great. I'm glad I was granted such a dedicated and hard-working daughter."

"You know it."

She pauses. "Look, Emily, I know this is hard for you – being here, and all. But I just think – I don't think it's a bad idea to get used to new cultures, you know? Make the best of what you have. Explore this place, learn some things."

"Uh-huh," I agree unenthusiastically. "Definitely."

Mom shrugs. "So you want to go downtown for a while? An hour or so. Just to look around. I went this afternoon, and it's pretty cool. There's also this gorgeous vase thing I'm half-set on buying."

I pause, considering the alternative. My chemistry textbook watches me expectantly.

"Yes," I say immediately.

* * *

As Mom feeds coins into the parking meter, I put on my sunglasses and check my reflection in a shop window. I look super.

"What do you think?" she asks, gesturing to our surroundings at large. "Cool, no?" It's not bad, I have to admit – movie theaters, clothes stores, the works. I nod back, fake-sighing. She smiles happily, and a twinge of guilt hits me as I realize what an annoying daughter I've been.

"Well, it's 4:30 now," my mom says, checking her watch, because she's old school like that. "I'm going to go buy that vase thing." She eyes me. "I'm going to take a wild guess and assume you don't want to go to the vase store?"

"Uh, yeah _no."_

She makes a face at me. "How are we related?" she sighs. "Well, I guess you can, uh, walk around for a while." Pausing, she furrows her eyebrows. "This is a bad idea, isn't it?"

"Nope," I reply. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with leaving your attractive teenage daughter in the middle of an unfamiliar city. I see no danger whatsoever." I nod comfortingly. "You buy that vase, Mother."

She shakes her head. "You're right. You're coming with me. Do you have your phone?"

"Yes," I say, too lazy to actually check. "I'm responsible."

"Right."

We make our way down the sidewalk, occasionally commenting on window items and pretty celebrities on advertisements. I mull over a vintage record store and a shop selling authentic shuriken – who knew? – before spying a tennis store.

I stop in front of the display window, pressing my fingertips to the glass. I look long and hard at the items on display – racquets, Nike wristbands, posters of Rafael Nadal – and try to decipher the hidden, worldly importance of the sport.

It's not just tennis to them; it's something gargantuan, something irreplaceable. And that must mean there's something I'm missing, right? I inspect the items for a full minute, expecting the answer to emerge in the form of a Japanese fairy, jumping into a perfectly harmonized musical number. Sighing, I step away from the window, realizing belatedly that I've left distinct fingerprints on the glass.

Which is when I realize that no one has been prodding me impatiently like a normal person would.

I blink, turning around. "Mom?" I call out uncertainly, making sure I don't yell loud enough to embarrass myself. I mean, I'm fourteen, for God's sake – fourteen-year-olds don't _get_lost in the middle of cities.

Okay, well, clearly they do.

Sighing at my own idiocy, I pat my pockets for my phone, only to remember that it's not with me – it's on my desk, beside my chemistry textbook.

"So now I'm alone, in the middle of a huge-ass city with no way of getting home and no way of contacting anyone. Perfect," I grumble. I'm so sick of this place, seriously – I feel like Japan itself has gathered all its bad luck into one huge, compact ball and thrust it directly into my life.

I wander around, looking into shop windows and hoping to miraculously find my mother in one of them. I've probably walked for at least ten minutes before I realize I should have just stayed put so that Mom could have found me herself. But when I turn back around to try and find my way, everything looks the same – rows and rows of stores and dozens of people and cars and sounds and too many smells of food.

_I am so dumb._

"Takoyaki! 400 yen!" a man yells in his very stereotypical Japanese Shopkeeper apron. He gestures at me with a stick, but I shake my head, turning up my pockets in explanation. The man immediately loses interest in me. I frown, suddenly hyperaware of how very, very hungry I am.

"I can _buy_ you one, if you'd like," a voice drawls. I spin around to see a twenty-something man smirking at me. "You're _cute_, you know, so I wouldn't mind." Suddenly, he bursts into delirious laughter, and I realize how completely drunk he is. At five in the evening. He could probably be attractive if he wasn't completely inebriated – but as it were… _gross._

I inch backward, trying not to gag. "Uh. No, I'm fine." I've seen this happen in manga, after all – the Cute, Unsuspecting Girl gets bullied by Drunk Older Guy into drugs or human trafficking or whatever. I, however, am not dumb enough to fall for his wiles. I try to side-step him, but he only smiles wider.

"Something else, then," he insists. "Whatever you want. I've got money, you know."

"I don't doubt it," I bite back. After all, one _must_ have quite a bit of money to purchase enough alcohol to get as ridiculously drunk as this man is. I back away, looking around wildly in a final, futile attempt to find my mother. She is, of course, nowhere in sight. That vase had better be pretty damn gorgeous.

"Hey," he says again, grabbing my wrist. I try to pry his fingers away, but he uses his other hand to stop me. "I've been having a bad day. You could _help me out_ here. Make my day…" he licks his lips. "Better."

"That," I snap, "is _disgusting."_ I flail my arms, trying to shake him off. I must look like a maniac, but when dealing with a maniac, one must be a maniac. "Hey!" I call to people passing by. "Hey, I'm possibly being mugged here. Feel free to lend a hand." They watch me with a flicker of interest, but continue on their business, speeding up when I catch their eye. "Really? Really, people? No one cares?"

"You're _funny_," he giggles. It's so gross I want to punch him in the face. Why not, actually? I pause. If there's one thing I've learned from Niou, it's that I'm a good puncher.

So I look him straight in the eyes, make a tight fist, reel my arm back…

…And slug him straight in the face.

Somehow, however, the ensuing scream of pain comes from me. _"Jesus!"_I yell. I wave my reddening hand around, and my only thought is _stupid Niou, making me believe I can punch someone convincingly._

The man blinks, touching his cheek. "You hit me," he slurs, and I realize with dread that his pain is dulled by his intake of alcohol. He grips my wrist tighter. "You _hit_me!" he repeats, his tone more stunned and fascinated than angered. I wince, curling into myself to try to alleviate the pain in some way. Dismally, I realize I have failed on all fronts – the man is not hurt, the man is not happy, I have just caused searing self-pain in my right hand, and I am still a hostage.

_I hate my life._

"Let go of me, okay?" I demand. "Seriously, I'm hurt. I need medical attention immediately or I'll bleed to death, and then you'll have an ugly court case on your hands." I dangle my limp hand in front of his face.

He looks confused for a second, then irate. "_I'm_the one who got punched."

"Don't be a sissy," I reply. "Suck it up." Even I'm aware of my hypocrisy. I try to pry his sweaty fingers from my skin. "Seriously, would you – just – let – _go – "_

"Koichi-san?"

I turn, and wonder if I'm dreaming. Completely lost for words, I stare at him. He practically glows with beauty, and I almost see a soft white light illuminating his lean figure. He drops his tennis bag onto the ground and stares – not maliciously, but still unnervingly – at us. I let my fist loosen, feeling all eagerness to fight dissipate, replaced by the notion that, with _him_here, there is absolutely nothing to worry about.

"Let go of her wrist," Yukimura says quietly, dangerously. "Now."

The man blinks, then sneers at him. "Or what?"

Yukimura tilts his head. Then, at lightning speed, he lifts a slender hand and places it on the man's fingers on my wrist. And suddenly – I have no idea what he's doing, but suddenly – the man's face contorts in raw pain.

"_You don't want to know_."

"Okay! Okay, Jesus – Just let go of me, would you—" he releases me, glaring at Yukimura. I exhale slowly, watching as he stumbles away, cradling his hand and muttering darkly.

"What did you do to him? That was amaz—" I turn to Yukimura again, and I'm reminded why I don't look at him when I can help it. The icy eyes are back, and I swear I can feel my innards shriveling up and settling in the bottom of my heart in the form of a billion glass pieces. I bite my lip, taking an involuntary step backward. Looking down, I mumble "Sorry," though I don't know what for.

In fact, why _should_I be sorry? I haven't wronged him. I lift my chin again, looking directly into his eyes. I notice a flicker of surprise, but it disappears within the moment. "I didn't need your help," I say haughtily. "I… could have gotten rid of him myself." Although I'm not entirely sure it's true, right now, it doesn't matter.

He shakes his head. "How? With a mighty, Hulk-powered punch? What did you think would happen – that you'd hit him, and he'd _apologize_ to you? Koichi-san," he exhales, "That's not how things work." I bite my lip, unable to answer, and he continues. "And is this," he says lightly, "another demonstration of your rebelliousness? You wandering around the middle of a city, totally alone?"

I cross my arms. "No," I say irritably. "No, I'm just lost, actually."

A corner of his perfect lips twitches upward. "Then it's simply a demonstration of your stupidity, I see."

I blink, rage seeping from the crevices of my unhappy black heart. "Yeah," I bite. "Exactly. I'm stupid. I don't follow directions, I make my teachers mad at me, I don't understand tennis, and now I'm lost in the middle of downtown like an _idiot_." I force myself to keep my eyes trained on him, even though it feels like I'm suffocating. "It turns out that I'm completely _useless_, so thanks for pointing that out to me."

After I say this, I fully expect Yukimura to comfort me – the way you're supposed to, as dictated in the Unwritten but Obligatory Rules book. Blind, insincere consolations, like, 'Oh, you're not dumb!' with an awkward, uncomfortable smile.

But he doesn't. Instead, he looks straight at me. "Well," he says. "Then prove yourself otherwise."

"What? Prove myself?"

"Prove you're not stupid. Don't make stupid decisions, and – " He leans closer, whispering in my ear. "_Don't walk alone in the middle of downtown."_

He picks up his tennis bag from the ground, slinging it gracefully over his shoulder. "I have to go, Koichi-san – I can't go around saving lives all day, you know." He eyes me carefully. "Will you be all right?"

"Probably," I say half-heartedly.

"Somehow, I don't find that very reassuring," he says dryly. However, he must not care _that_much, because with a final, comforting smile, he turns around and begins walking away.

Maybe it's the idea of being alone again, or the prospect of more creepy lurkers hanging around. Most likely, though, it's the fact that I feel a sudden, alarming feeling of emptiness with every step this perfect boy takes from me. But…

"Wait!" I call. "Wait, Yukimura-kun…"

He turns.

"Can I go with you?"

* * *

A/N: GUYS DID YOU CATCH THE PART WITH THE FINGERPRINTS ON THE GLASS DID YOU DID YOU DID YOU? WOW I'M JUST SUCH A SYMBOLIC GENIUS NO? lolol I'm so pathetic. I'm sorry, guys. Iloveyouall.

guys. GUYS. TOM HIDDLESTON IS RUINING MY LIFE. I literally cannot fathom his perfection. As;lkdfja;lskdfja;lskdf make him stooooooop

you know what's awesome? BRUSCHETTA. It's also ruining my life.

One more thing ruining my life: JAQEN H'GHAR. If any of you are Game of Thrones fans, COME TO MEEEEE and we can sob together.

The transition from last chapter to this chapter is a little bit weird. But like. Points for trying? -sobs-

…and of course, let me quietly whisper my apology: _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm SORRY THIS IS SO RIDICULOUSLY LATE AND LAME AND WAAAAAAAAH_

love you all.

p.s. On a happier note, chapter 6 is completely written so it should be up in like. I don't know. A week, maybe? :D

disclaimed.


	6. Chapter 6

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter six.**

* * *

"So," I say, munching on some takoyaki I blackmailed Yukimura into buying, "Where are you headed?"

"Wouldn't it have been wiser to know that _before _aimlessly walking around with me?" he sighs. "For all you know, I could be going somewhere dangerous."

I look him up and down with a _Bitch, please_ expression. "You? Danger? What's the most dangerous thing you've ever done? Make a child cry?"

He gives me a dry look. "I've done plenty of dangerous things, okay?"

"If you say so."

"I _have," _he says, and I laugh.

"So, really, where are you going?" I prompt. "Are you going to meet your hot date? Am I imposing?" I nudge his arm. "You can tell me."

"I'm going to the tennis gear place," he explains. "I need a new racket grip."

_Of course. _I refrain from rolling my eyes. "A date it is, then," I nod. "An intimate date with your beloved sport." I pause. "You're really in love with it, aren't you?"

He tilts his head, honestly curious. "What do you mean by that?"

I shrug, suddenly feeling inexplicably tired. "Never mind. Is it far from here?"

Yukimura shakes his head. "Not at all," he replies gracefully. "In fact – " he stops in front of a glass door, taking hold of the handle and pulling it open for me. "We're here."

It's a different shop than the one I was looking at before – which, come to think of it, makes me realize that stupid _tennis _is what got me lost in the first place. I push the thought out of my mind, telling myself I don't have the time.

The inside of the store is well-organized and unexpectedly large – you can only have so many products devoted to tennis after all, right? – but Yukimura easily navigates his way through the place. He picks up a couple of cans of tennis balls, tucking them into the nook of his arm, before making his way toward another corner of the store. "Racket grips," he explains shortly, picking one up and examining it.

"Shit, really?" I exclaim. "I always thought those were banana stands. My whole life is a lie."

He doesn't laugh, and I purse my lips, feeling myself shrink as I mentally berate myself for my idiotic sense of humor. Instead, I step forward beside him, plucking a grip from the shelf.

"Buy this one," I offer, taking away the black grip he's currently looking at. "Come on, look at it. It's awesome. You could cut down your opponents with nothing but pure awesomeness, seriously." He glances at it. It's a rainbow tie-dye explosion of color, and according to the equally colorful packaging, it 'brings fun to your favorite sport.' I wave the product in front of his face. "Come on, you know you want it. You do. It's beautiful. It's perfect. _Buy it."_

"I – no," he says finally, a look of undisguised distaste on his face. He plucks it from my hand with his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it as if searching for signs of disease. "This is so distracting."

"Your face is distracting," I retort sullenly, and then laugh because of how true it is. I glance up at his angelic features before mentally slapping myself, annoyed. _When did I get like this? Reduced to girly-ness for a mere _boy?

But that's just the problem, I know – Yukimura is not just a boy. Yukimura is a bundle of charisma and strength and power, wrapped in layers and layers of undecipherable packaging.

"Koichi-san?" Snapping back to reality, I realize I've been gazing blankly at the blue-eyed boy's face for who knows how long. He watches me carefully. "Is there something on my face?"

_Yes, _I think. _Perfection. You've got a revolting amount of perfection smeared all over your face. Wipe it off, Yukimura. Wipe it oooofffff._

"You are so dumb," I sigh.

Yukimura shrugs, not bothering to question me, as if he's already accepted that I will never make sense. He plucks the boring-ass black grip from my fingers and makes his way to the register, where a madly blushing teenage worker awaits him eagerly, failing to nonchalantly smooth out her hair. I note vaguely how pretty she is. "I'm buying this, okay?"

"Right, you do that," I agree, raising my arm to wave him away. Unfortunately, as I have no bodily control over my own limbs, my hand brushes against a nearby shelf of visors, sharply reminding me of my earlier incident.

I gasp, cradling my knuckles as I inspect the damage. The skin is even redder than before, and I'd somehow forgotten that I was bleeding. Realizing so makes the pain infinitely more real, and I whimper self-pityingly.

"Koichi-san?"

"Uh, what?" I whip my hand behind my back and look up to see Yukimura watching me curiously from the cashier booth. "Um. No, nothing. You keep buying your awesome things. I'll just wait outside, if that's okay." He nods slightly, and I rush out, grabbing a few paper napkins from conveniently-placed tissue box near the door.

Safely out of sight, I lick at the napkin, blatantly ignoring all sanitary and hygienic cautions ever written in the history of the world. I dab the tissue painfully against my fingers, clearing away the drying blood. "Poor hand," I sing pitifully. "You were a brave soul, weren't you, good for you, it's all going to be okay—"

Hearing the glass door swing open, I quickly change my ingeniously-written song to a loud clearing of my throat. "Uh, hi," I say, tossing the napkins into a nearby trashcan. "Yeah, we can go now."

"No, we cannot," he replies. I blink at him, and he sits me down on a street bench before taking out the plastic bag with his purchases.

"We can't?"

"No." Yukimura reaches into the bag, and with an unnecessary amount of flair, he extracts a package of bandages. "Not until you're treated. I can't have a death on my hands, see?" My eyes widen, as he rips open the packaging. He catches my eye and laughs, mistaking my awe for worry. "I'm a bit of an expert on injuries, so you can trust me, okay?"

I smile, lifting my hand toward him like a princess. "I trust you."

He nods back, and begins wrapping the cloth around my hand. "Koichi-san," he says carefully, then stops, as if reconsidering his query.

Frowning, I nudge him lightly. "What?" I push, curious. "Come on, you can't do that."

Yukimura smiles now. "Never mind. It's not important."

I furrow my eyebrows, poking him in the arm. "Tell me," I persist. "I'm sure it's very important. Everything you say is law. Your remarks permeate the skies with their utter perfection. The universe bows down in honored glory at your words. Don't deprive the universe of your existence," I press.

He laughs, a surprisingly boyish sound, and I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I hate how pleased I am. This boy – this ridiculous, inhuman boy – is not at all good for my health. "Well, it _is_ important," he allows. I nod expectantly, and he hesitates before giving in. "Do you like Niou?"

I practically choke on oxygen. _"Niou?_" I repeat, pounding my chest with my fist. I eye him warily. "Is this a joke?"

"Um," he says. "No."

I shake my head. "What in the world could possibly make you think I like _Niou?"_ I demand, throwing my left hand up in the air, seeing as how my right hand is a bit preoccupied. "Niou is the very bane of my existence. Niou is the blight of my life. The mere idea that Niou's feet rest on the same soil that my feet rest on is enough to make me want to force socks down my throat." I shudder for good measure.

I'm overreacting, I know, and I only mean a fraction of what I'm saying, but the words somehow tumble easily out. Niou's just the type of person that's easy to hate, no matter how falsely founded that hatred is. In fact…

I pause, remembering our truce from this morning. No, I don't hate Niou at all. The truth is, we could probably be friends. I'd established Niou as my enemy, but why? Was it for any reason at all?

I shake my head wildly, trying to chase any sentiment of self-doubt from my mind. Of course there was a reason. Niou had been an asshole on our very first meeting, for no reason whatsoever. That was it, wasn't it?

He watches at me with amusement. "Look," he says finally. "If I'm wrong, never mind."

We fall into silence, and I watch his slender fingers apply the bandage, every so often brushing my skin. I bite my tongue, willing myself not to ask, but it's not use. I pull on the sleeve of his athletic jacket and let curiosity take over. "Why?" I ask. "Why do you ask?"

"It's not important."

"Spill," I say firmly. "Or I'll…"

"Punch me?" he guesses, and I laugh.

"Yes. I have a Hulk punch, you know." I watch him carefully. "It's because you like me, isn't it?" I say solemnly, sighing resignedly. "It's because you're jealous."

Yukimura laughs at me, and though I was joking, his blatant brush-off of the very notion bothers me more than it should have. "Right," he says. "Sure." He shrugs, finishing the bandaging and sealing it with a magically-present safety pin. "You guys are close, is all."

"We're neighbors," I explain. "And it's more like a… I-hate-you-you-hate-me thing. It's fun." I tilt my head and smile as he dumps the ripped packaging into his shopping bag. "You still didn't tell me why," I prompt subtly.

"I just…" He lifts his strong blue eyes to look at me, and I feel myself shrinking again. I have never hated a feeling so much in my life, and I vaguely realize how strange it is to have sentiments of hatred for one side of a person and irrevocable admiration for the other. "We have a tournament to win. It's of incredible importance, and he needs – the _team _needs to focus on our goals. Niou doesn't have the time to…"

He trails off, and I blink. "Isn't it up to them who they spend time with?" I ask, puzzled. "I mean… you're a sports captain, not their life overseer, or whatever." _It's just a game, _I almost say, but stop myself. I've already realized that tennis is not _just a game _to these freaks, after all.

The blue-eyed boy just looks at me, an indecipherable expression on his face. He looks… at a loss. "Koichi-san, you…" he says, but doesn't seem to know how to continue.

"Uh. Sorry," I mumble, apologizing for what seems like the millionth time, and again, for no actual reason. "And thanks. You know, for this." I lift up my mummified hand.

Yukimura smiles at me, and I find myself smiling automatically back. I look away from this boy who controls my emotions. "It was nothing," he says serenely, before pausing thoughtfully. "I'm not doing it again, though, Koichi-san – I'm not your guardian. You need to learn to look out for yourself. Or, even better, to be responsible enough to avoid such situations."

"Yeah, yeah," I groan irritably. "I get it. You and Sanada-kun and everyone else in the universe only told me so five billion times."

"Five billion and one is a good number," he says with a small smile, and I wonder when Yukimura will realize that five billion and one will never be high enough to change me.

* * *

Five minutes and a phone call later, I turn to see my mother rushing toward me with a large cardboard box in her arms. Catching up to me, she rolls her eyes in exasperation. "God," she sighs. "I'm sorry. My daughter's just stupid."

"Mother!" I protest, horrified. "That's mean."

Yukimura just smiles back. "It was nothing," he says, and I notice that my own mother has no power against his charismatic smile, either. She smiles serenely back before whipping her eyes back at me.

"You stay here, okay? I'm going to get the car."

"You lost track of your beloved daughter for almost an hour, and you decide to leave _again? _What kind of mother _are_ you?"

She just waves me away, dumping the vase-filled box into my arms. "Hold this. I'll be back in three minutes."

"I'm counting!" I yell at her. I look at Yukimura. "Sorry," I mumble sheepishly. "Again."

"It's nothing," he replies. "Again."

I laugh.

"Well!" someone exclaims from behind us. "It seems the heavens are in my favor today – what are the odds of meeting the great _Yukimura Seiichi_ in this sad little city?"

We turn, me curiously, Yukimura warily. "Atobe," he greets shortly but politely. "This is unexpected."

"Indeed it is," Atobe agrees. "I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I've been meaning to make sure about our upcoming match between Rikkai and Hyotei. Our boys are itching to play against – "

He suddenly notices me then, eyes surprised. He smiles at me, somehow gentle and wildly superior at the same time. He bows slightly, the slight smile still on his lips. "How rude of me," he says. "Atobe Keigo, captain of the Hyotei tennis team. And you are?"

"Emily," I say without thinking. I shake my head. "Wait, no. I mean, Koichi Emi."

He nods amusedly. "Nice to meet you, Koichi Emi-not-Emily." I blink at him dryly. _So witty._ "Are you…"

"Leaving," I finish for him nervously. For some reason, his extremely suave attitude makes me wary. "You know what, I'm just going to…" I step away, waving at Yukimura with my non-bandaged hand. "Thanks for, you know." He just nods, and I walk away.

"Well, she's a charmer," is the last thing I hear from behind me.

* * *

A/N: GUYS I'M BACK FROM CHINA/SOUTH KOREA.

IT WAS AWESOME.

Seriously, seriously awesome.

I'm drowning in happiness.

By the way, the Atobe part is, as you probably suspect, totally unnecessary. But I mean, it kind of sets things up for future stuff?

(But mostly Atobe is my baby so I couldn't resist.)

(Oh and yet again, I apologize for another crappycrappy ending.)

(-sobs-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimed, yo**

* * *

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter seven.**

* * *

**warning**: unbeta'd, don't shoot me

* * *

"Okay, guys, we'll stop here for today. For homework, read pages 248 through 260 and answer the questions. You're handing them in, so please don't scribble dumb things," sensei warns, eyeing the class threateningly. "I'm getting real tired of grading your thoughtless comments." The class snickers as she rolls her eyes, glancing at the analog clock on the wall. "Well, we still have about two minutes left of class. You should start now to lighten your workload at home," she suggests.

"Yes," the class drawls together. Promptly, however, all books are out of sight and pencils are zipped in pencil cases. Ah, the bright, motivated minds of middle school students. Grinning, I follow suit, slipping my notebooks into my bag and shuffling the sides to fit everything in comfortably. I pause, furrowing my eyebrows as something catches my eye.

It's my English notebook. Or… _was._

"What the—" I mumble, flipping through the pages like a flipbook. Each page is coated—_literally coated_—in octopus stickers. Octopi waving cheerfully, octopi sleeping, octopi playing football, octopi cordially shaking hands with each other. I mean, there are even octopi making sushi, which could be seen as a form of cannibalism. I stare in shock at the pages, more than a little angered – because, I mean, it was a new notebook, and now I have to get a _new_new notebook. What a waste of paper.

Because see, pranks are one thing, but _killing trees_is another thing entirely.

Blowing the bangs out of my eyes in impatience, I ram the ruined notebook into the bag, fully intent on storming off toward Niou Masaharu and giving him a short lesson on the impact of human irresponsibility on the environment before generously allowing him to choose his own method of death.

It's not like I don't have an excuse to be annoyed, for once. Last class, he'd switched the contents of my chemistry and music study folders, earning me a brief lecture on Respect, Responsibility, and Results from sensei. And then after that, he'd somehow messed with the spring in my favorite ballpoint pen to ensure that it would explode in my hands as soon as the tip touched the paper. I make a face at the ink stains on my fingers.

_Maybe I need a padlock on my backpack_, I muse, before quickly changing my mind. _Oh,_hell_no. I am not spending money on a padlock because of_Niou_._

Well, I mean, he didn't explicitly _say_he did it. But who else would be immature enough to pull it off?

Just as I'm about to stand up and give him a piece of my mind, I think back to yesterday, on the bench with Yukimura in front of the tennis store. Sullenly, I remember the promise I made to him, and the expectant look he gave me. I wonder what he'd do if I broke that promise. Quickly, I decide that I don't want to know.

With more than a little difficulty, I hold in the urge to kick Niou in the balls, settling on a sharp glare in his direction. He doesn't even look up, continuing instead to whistle non-chalantly, looking out the window at some kids playing soccer.

Huh. Guess my glaring skills are slacking.

"Koichi-san. Did you get in safely yesterday?"

I shiver involuntarily as Yukimura Seiichi taps a slim finger on my shoulder and smiles. Glancing up warily, I look into that perfect, beautiful face, those angelic features currently carved into an expression of gentle concern. "You left so quickly."

Discreetly, I place a hand over my heart. My mind goes blank, save for one thought:

_This is bad._

Leaving any such thoughts deep behind a mask of, hopefully, blasé carelessness, I smile back, realizing belatedly that I just subconsciously flipped my hair. Like a diva. Like an _attention hogging diva._

_I am hopeless._

I was right – Japan was a bad idea. However, I had not expected Japan to be a bad idea because of a reason like _this._

"Of course, thanks to you," I manage finally. "Thanks."

"You haven't caused any trouble today. I appreciate that," he comments. I smile wanly, dying a little inside. _You haven't caused any trouble today._It's like I'm a dog that he's potty-training.

"Ha," I say awkwardly, and then stand up at the sound of the bell. "Thanks." I cringe a little, and he looks puzzled as I practically sprint out of the classroom, launching myself into the stream of students.

Stupid Yukimura is ruining my cardiac system _and_my eloquence. He probably thinks I'm a total idiot now.

Miserably, I glance at the half-sheet of paper that I printed my schedule on, since I have the memory of a goldfish and haven't memorized it. Vaguely, I wonder if Yukimura has ever forgotten anything in his entire life. I doubt it sincerely. I can feel my heart beating again at the thought of him.

"Ugh!" I yell, dropping down to the floor in the middle of the hallway and burying my head between my knees, ignoring a group of second-years that jump back and stare at me in alarm. I am not this kind of person. I am _not._I do not obsess over boys. I do not fall asleep smiling. I do not have _boy problems._

A kid stares at me in disbelief as I make the strangled sobbing noise of a dying whale. I whip my head up and stare straight back, and he jumps.

"What," I demand irritably. _"What."_

He blinks before scurrying away, scared out of his mind. I lean against the wall of lockers and sigh in misery.

"Well," someone says from behind me, amusement lacing her voice. "Hello, sunshine."

I turn slowly to see Yuzui watching me, smiling bemusedly. "Guh," I reply in greeting.

"You are so weird. Is this how people typically act in America?"

"Yes," I reply. "It is." I take the hand that she's holding out to me, feeling like a strand of wet spaghetti as she hoists me up. "I don't like Japan," I wail. "Life is so _hard."_

"I know, sweetie, I know." She eyes me sideways, scanning me up and down as if looking for signs of death. "Uh, why, though, in this case?"

"_Boys,"_I moan.

"Ah. Any boys in particular?"

"No! I don't like him!" I shriek down the hallway. Yuzui stares at me, and then waves serenely at a pair of terrified girls who pull out their cell phones, dial pad ready, as if fully prepared to call a talented exorcist ASAP.

"She's fine, she's fine. Don't worry," she assures them confidently. They don't look convinced, but bow slightly at her before power-walking past us, whispering to each other. "Look, Koichi, why don't you, uh, stop thinking about this for a while? It doesn't look like it's doing you good," she says wisely. "You look pretty pale." Looping her arm in mine, she tilts her gorgeous head. "You're too pretty to have such a depressing expression on your face. We have PE next—nothing like a little physical exercise to get our super minds back on track, right?"

With that, she whips me away toward the gym in a half-skip, half-sprint, and fully violent storm down the hall.

"It's _hot,"_Yuzui groans. "I _hate_the sun. I wish the sun would just explode. I wish the entire world would just _explode_."

"Jesus, and you say _I'm_depressing," I laugh, slapping her on the back. After changing in the locker room, we were greeted to what appeared to be the loudest freaking woman on the planet, who Yuzui had quietly introduced to me as the PE teacher. She'd told us to hustle our asses out to the running track and do 'as many laps as it took us to collapse in agony'.

She was a real charmer, I could tell.

Unfortunately, she chose the day that the sun was apparently in a seriously PMS-y mood to go outside. Yuzui stares at me with dead eyes.

"I can't go on… I can't go _on. Leave me here to die."_

"Yuzu-chan, you can do it!" a bunch of girls giggle from behind us. "Yuzu-chan! Fight!"

"Fight!" she roars back, bursting forward with a sudden spurt of exaggerated energy, and they all laugh together. "Thanks, guys!"

"Who were they?" I ask conversationally as they jog away, still laughing. "They seemed nice. Your friends?"

"Nah," she says easily. "I have no idea who they are."

I blink at her. "What the… they just called you Yuzu-chan. Isn't that like, a Japanese friendly people thing?"

"Yeah, but I don't know them." She shrugs, then grins. "Hey, I might not seem like it, but I'm pretty popular. Being student body president does that to you."

"No, actually," I say seriously. "You _definitely_seem like it." I cross my arms and sneer at her, holding up five fingers and folding each one down, one at a time. "You're smart, you're the student body president, and you're drop dead _gorgeous_."

She blinks at my two remaining fingers, still pointing skyward. She smiles mock-smugly, folding them down herself. "I'm also super sexy, and super hilarious."

"Right. Also super humble."

She giggles, and it's adorable. I wonder if I were as perfect as Shiinta Yuzui, Yukimura would approve of me. I wonder if I were Shiinta Yuzui and I had made a joke about Yukimura liking me, he would have laughed it off, the way he did to Koichi Emi. I wonder if I were Shiinta Yuzui, I would be good enough for Yukimura.

I sigh miserably, dropping down to the ground in depression.

"Oh, for the love of—not this _again_," she exclaims in exasperation. She grabs each hand and pulls at me. "Up, up. Now. Or I'm leaving you."

"Leave me. Leave me here to _die._" I stare up at her with pitiful eyes. "Yuzu-chan, love sucks."

"You're, like, fourteen," she says dryly. "Either tell me who your problem is already, or shut up and stop whining."

"Ugh." I can't tell her. I can't tell her I like _Yukimura Seiichi._He's too perfect, and it's almost too embarrassing for someone like me to even fathom the idea of being with someone like him.

She rolls her eyes, pulling me up, and we jog side-by-side in silence, listening to the steady pounding of our feet on the pavement. I look up at the sky, watching the white clouds drift peacefully down a clear blue backdrop.

How is he controlling my emotions, my self-esteem, my formerly infallible confidence—without even being here?

Yukimura Seiichi is poison to my personality. He is ruining everything I've stood up for. Me-I'm the rebel, the girl who never stops for anyone's rules, the girl who always has an opinion, who always speaks her own mind. Yukimura, though—he's the epitome of leader, the top dog, the self-assured and intelligent captain of the tennis team. He is controlling and charismatic, and no one would dare to disobey him.

Yukimura Seiichi is my precise opposite. And he is trying to change me.

And I'm about to let him.

"No!" I scream into the distance. Yuzui turns to look at me, her expression no longer carrying any surprise, but only impatience.

"I," she says dangerously, "will seriously hit you if you do any of this drop-to-the-ground-and-yelling-bloody-murder business again. I'm _not_ kidding." She holds up a hand. "I have really big palms, see, which some may find unattractive, but I find to be a positive point because it means my slaps _hurt._Let this be a word of warning."

"Duly noted," I mumble sheepishly. Then I brighten, grinning at her proudly. "I think I'm done, anyway. I've figured everything out."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I, Emily Koichi, refuse to allow anyone to step on my ideals!" I proclaim determinedly. I hold up a hand into the air as if pledging my decision to the world. "Especially a stupid _boy_!"

"Yeah! Atta girl!" Yuzui yells back, slapping me on the shoulder and pushing me forward. I laugh, because she has no idea what my inner conflict is, but is fully supportive of it either way. Pumping my arms at my sides, I launch myself forward, flying into the finish line, arms in the air like I'm a triumphant Olympic runner.

"Good hustle, Koichi!" the PE teacher calls out. I grin at her and salute her with two fingers, feeling great as I head to the water fountain to catch my breath.

"Hey—Koichi, right?"

I turn around in surprise to see a tall, evenly tanned girl grinning at me. With brown hair in a high, straight ponytail and legs that go for miles, she seriously looks like a model. "She's not kidding. That was really good." She holds out a hand for me to shake. "Nakamura Chiharu. Captain of the track team."

I blink at her. "Koichi Emi," I reply. "I'm, uh, a student here." I cringe. _No shit, Em?_

"Yeah, the uniform tipped me off," she says, grinning again. "Look, I just wanted to say—you really are good at running. I've actually been watching you for a while—" she pauses thoughtfully. "—uh, wow, I'm sorry that sounded so creepy. But yeah, I've been watching you run and it seems like you're a real natural. Great pacing, great speed."

"Wow, thanks," I say, surprised. "I mean, I was on the track team back in California, but I quit and haven't run in a really long time, so—wow, that means a lot."

"California," she repeats. "Exotic."

"You bet," I agree, flipping my hair dramatically to make her smile. I pause, tilting my head curiously. "On the risk of sounding conceited or whatever… are you trying to recruit me?"

Nakamura grins sheepishly. "Yeah. I'm glad you got to the point, 'cause I'm not very good at this recruiting business. Usually my vice-captain takes care of that." She raises her eyebrows. "Well, you interested?"

"Uh, wow," I say, flattered. "That's really nice of you, seriously, but I, ah…" I smile apologetically. "Sorry. I don't think I'll be right for it."

She looks disappointed, but seems to accept it. "You're talented, though. Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Think it over?" she persists hopefully.

"Yeah, of course," I assure her, although I already know I won't. "Thanks for the offer. It's really great of you to think so highly of me."

We exchange a few more words about school and the weather before she walks away, waving as she leaves. I wave back, and then jump as Yuzui touches my shoulder lightly.

"Well, well, well!" she exclaims. "Isn't _somebody_popular!"

"I know, right?" I grin. "I'm so _wanted._Being popular is tough." I fake a yawn, and she punches me lightly.

"I'm out of here, Koichi," she says flatly. "You're too annoying to be around. Besides, I got some important popular girl things to do." Winking, she sprints away toward the building.

I laugh before turning back around for the water fountain. As I do, however, I find myself immediately face-to-chest with someone. "Whoa!" I exclaim in surprise. "Sorry, dude, my bad—oh."

"'Oh', huh?" Yukimura says in amusement. "So it's like, 'oh, it's just Yukimura, whatever, don't need to apologize'?"

"Exactly right," I agree, nodding matter-of-factly. "What's up?"

"I just had gym," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "See?" he gestures toward his gym clothes, except somehow, I take it as an invitation to take in his tall, slender frame. Which is obviously not okay. I look up at the sky.

_You are not controlling me. You are not controlling me. You are not controlling me._

"Right," I say, quickly changing the subject. "But you're not sweating."

"Oh…" he trails off, suddenly looking awkward. I blink, wondering what I could possibly have said that he's uncomfortable with. "Yeah, I don't really participate in gym," he says lightly.

I make a face. "What? Why not?"

"I just don't," he says easily. I frown, slightly miffed at his perpetual brush-offs, but he continues. "Anyway, I saw you before. When Nakamura-san was recruiting you?" He smiles gently. "Looks like you're not so _useless_ after all, Koichi-san," he says pointedly. I blink, remembering his words from yesterday.

_Prove it. Prove you're not useless._

I stare at him, and he smiles back with approving eyes. He nods at me and drums his fingers on my forehead before turning around and disappearing into the crowd of students.

Slowly, I lift a hand to my head.

_Yukimura Seiichi will be the death of me._

* * *

LALALALALALALALA

GUYS DO YOU LISTEN TO MUSE? SO GOOD AHHHHHH.

anyway, sorry this is late (again). on the bright side, chappie 8 should be up in like, idk, a week or something. WOOOOO


	8. Chapter 8

**.change of plans**.

**.chapter eight.**

* * *

"I'm so exhausted," I groan to Yuzui as I open my shoe locker. "Today sucked." It's the end of the day, and students are swarming in all different directions through the hallway, discussing after school plans. Yuzui only nods back without looking up, diligently using a red pen to circle certain unsatisfactory words on a thick packet. I glance at the cover and read the words 'Yearly Budget'. Making a face, I return to my locker. Yuzui seriously is the epitome of model student, and I feel like an ape next to her.

Swinging open the locker, I slip off my indoor shoes and trade them with my everyday ones. As I place the white Rikkai shoes in the compartment, I notice something stuffed into the corner. Furrowing my eyebrows, I reach for it. It's a small scrap of white computer paper, folded into eighths. Yuzui doesn't look up as I open it up, smoothing out the crinkles and reading the message neatly in angry gel pen scribbles.

_BITCH_.

Wow, classy. I roll my eyes and flip it over, searching for any clues, but find nothing. Not that I need any – based on today's events, it's pretty obvious who it is.

Honestly, I'm a little bit disappointed – locker hate mail? It's a little immature for someone infamous for his pranks. Crumpling it up and stuffing it into my skirt pocket, I roll my blazer sleeves up, ready to track him the hell down and give him a piece of my mind. I slam the locker shut and glance at Yuzui.

"Ready to go?" I ask.

"Mm," she mumbles absently. She begins walking forward, still without looking up from her work, and almost crashes into someone before I grab the back of her collar and pull her forcefully backward. "Hey!" she complains in annoyance, finally focusing her irritated pale eyes on me. "I could have just choked!"

"Sorry," I say, completely insincerely. "But I thought 'almost choking' would be a little bit better than 'breaking fifteen bones in your body.'" I look up, about to apologize to the near-victim on Yuzui's behalf, before immediately recognizing his idiotic, smug smirk.

"Watch where you're going," he says to me, even though I'm not the one who ran into him.

"You!" This must be fate. Smiling mirthlessly, I reach into my skirt pocket and thrust the note at him. "Stop this," I say, like it's a friendly business offer, "Or I'll hurt you."

"Right, like you can hurt me," he says immediately, taking the scrap from my palm and unfolding it. "You're like the size of a crayon." Ignoring my incomprehensible noises of protest, he reads the note with an undecipherable expression, blinks, and then re-reads it. I curl my lip at him, positive that he's secretly mentally laughing his ass off at his _ingenious _prank.

"Couldn't you have chosen something a little more original?" I ask, sighing as if it's the most depressing thing I've ever experienced. "I mean, seriously. 'Bitch'? Did you really think _that _would get to me?"

"You're right," he says automatically. "I need to step up my game." For some reason, he folds up the note again and carefully places it in his pocket instead of giving it back. Well, it's not like I _wanted _it back, or anything, but it's unexpected. I shrug it off. It's not important.

_"Anyway," _I continue, "If I find another freaking octopus sticker in my personal belongings, your gut had better be prepared for a nice conversation with my fist."

He rolls his eyes. "Puri," he says, and then walks casually past us toward the entrance gates.

"What does that even _mean?" _I demand to Yuzui.

She shrugs. "It's just something he says a lot," she mumbles, returning to her packet.

I stare at her. "Yuzu, do you care about _anything _other than your work?"

"I do," she says distantly. "I care about food." She pauses, then looks up. "Oh my god," she says. "Can we get some food? I'm so hungry."

I laugh. "Finally!" I exclaim. "O hear ye, world! It turns out Shiinta Yuzui actually _is _human!"

She slaps me on the arm. I whimper.

Well, Yuzui was right. Her slaps _do _hurt.

"300 yen," the man announces, handing Yuzui two sticks of yakitori. She tucks her papers under an arm and takes them in one hand, digging into her bag for her money. Expertly balancing the bag, her food, her schoolwork, and her coin pouch between her hands and teeth, she pulls out her share and hands it to him.

"You look busy," he comments, looking concerned. "Take it easy, all right?"

"Yes, sir," she says, smiling prettily. "Thank you."

She hands me a stick, and I immediately bite at the steaming chicken, also handing my money to the street vendor. "Thank you," I echo, mouth full.

He makes a face at me. "You, meanwhile, seem to be taking it _too _easy."

"Hey!" I exclaim indignantly. "I'm plenty busy! Don't make assumptions!"

The man waves me away, wiping his hands on his apron. "Kids these days," he mumbles disapprovingly, and I pout at Yuzui as we walk away, laughing.

"I _did _tell you to join a club, you know," she says in her very best I-told-you-so tone.

I stick my tongue out at her. "Yeah," I sigh. "I don't know, though. I don't want to do sports."

"Why not? You're good at track."

I just shrug, citing some reason or other about just not wanting to. It's only partly true; besides having the motivation of a snail, I don't want to do sports because it's become… different. It seems to me that sports are no longer for fun—not at Rikkai. At Rikkai, sports are not a hobby, but a fail-and-you-die necessity. It's intimidating, and I'm afraid that if I start now, I'll get sucked into it and lose my soul, the way the rest of these tennis freaks have.

"What are you in, Yuzu?" I ask. "Besides being Almighty Student Body President, aka Queen of the World."

"Being queen of the world takes a lot of time and energy, dude," she deadpans, and then counts off her clubs on her fingers. "But other than that, I tutor kids on weekends. I'm vice-president of the law club, a member of the gardening club… oh, I volunteer on Saturdays at the hospital. And then I'm part of the cultural club, the newspaper club, and the math club." She glances at me to see that I'm staring at her like she's grown two new heads. "Oh, I'm also a member of the girls' tennis team, actually—although the girls' tennis season is in fall, so it ended a while ago."

My jaw drops. "Stop. You're—you're scaring me." I place my hands on my hips. "How are you even alive? You are literally good at _everything."_

She stills, dropping her hands to her sides. "Not everything," she mumbles, looking uncomfortable for a moment. I blink, startled, but then she brightens again. "But yeah, mostly. I'm pretty great, huh?" Yuzui flips her hair over one shoulder. "Bow down to me, peasant." I roll my eyes, she smiles, tossing her now-empty stick of yakitori into a trash can. "Hey, wanna go to the street tennis courts? I've finished my work." She slides her papers into a black briefcase-like schoolbag.

"What's that?" I ask curiously. "The street tennis courts?"

"Outdoor courts. They're pretty near here. They're not the best quality courts, but they do the trick. It's pretty fun to watch the matches, though sometimes you get some really inexperienced players that seriously don't know what they're doing." Yuzui pokes me in the shoulder, staring at me intently. "Besides, you're pretty interested in tennis now, aren't you?"

I frown. "What?"

She just looks at me. "Well, you're friends with the team now. It's pretty much impossible to _not _be interested in tennis when you spend time with those kinds of people." She stills, looking out in the distance, like her mind is somewhere else. "They're pretty incredible, aren't they?" she asks quietly.

I blink, tilting my head at her. "Yuzui?" I say, but she doesn't reply. Huh. It appears that there is more to Shiinta Yuzui than student body president and perfect model student. I begin to ask, but she seems to detect it and grabs me by the wrist, propelling me forward down the sidewalk in a violent powerwalk.

"Well, come on, before it gets dark!" she exclaims quickly, all but dragging me around a corner, although it's still only four in the afternoon. We walk another block until we reach a small break in the grass—an overgrown stone path, leading up to some steps. I would have missed it completely if I didn't hear the hollow thwacking noises of tennis balls against racket strings.

Leading the way, she makes her way up the stairs and toward the courts, but doesn't enter. Instead, she quiets down to keep from disturbing the players, lifting a finger to her lips to make me do the same. She leans on the chain link fence, curling her fingers around the wires, eyes widening in surprise.

"Koichi!" she hisses. "You remember how I said that sometimes there are really inexperienced players here?"

"Yeah, like two seconds ago," I say, following a few steps behind her.

"Well, today is not one of those days." She moves over, pulling me into the fence, and I stumble forward, almost crashing my nose into the metal. She jabs a finger forward, and I see what she means.

The first one I see is Kirihara. I almost don't recognize him at first – he's changed into street clothes, first of all, consisting of black athletic shorts and a green Adidas t-shirt. But besides that, he's just… different. Even more so than the first day, at tennis practice after lunch. He's practically unrecognizable – his eyes are blood red, and I furrow my eyebrows, suddenly wondering if I should be worried for his health.

However, his maniacal smile and vigorous movements convince me otherwise. Kirihara is not sick, physically—but the way he is now, I am certain that there is something wrong with his brain. I watch in horror as he draws his racket back, left hand up in the air like he's about to grab the ball hurtling toward him, crazed grin etched into his features. He slams the racket forward, hitting the ball with such ferocity that I flinch. It whips forward into his opponent's court, ramming directly into the ground two inches from his feet and then bouncing aggressively up into his knee.

Kirihara's opponent lets go of his racket in shock, dropping to the ground and grabbing at his leg in pain. "Shit!" he hisses, staring at the growing bruise – and it is then that I realize that he has half a dozen other bruises to match, lining his bare legs and arms. He whips his head up and glares at Kirihara, who smirks down at him in return. "Dude!" he yells. "What is your problem?"

"_I _don't have a problem," Kirihara replies matter-of-factly. "I told you nicely to get off the courts so I could play—" He gestures behind him, which is when I finally notice Niou, Jackal, and Marui sitting peacefully on a bench, watching the scene with both indifference and amusement. "—But since _you _decided to be difficult about it, it's your own fault." Kirihara shrugs, placing the tip of his racket on the ground and leaning forward on it, glancing down on the boy with a condescending expression. "Know your place before you challenge Rikkaidai," he says coldly.

"R-Rikkai…" his opponent stammers. "You guys are from Rikkai?"

"You don't know our faces?" Kirihara asks, taken aback. "Well, Christ. Do your homework, man." He pauses thoughtfully. "But get off the court before that. I'm getting sick of you."

Wincing, the boy stands, using his racket for support. He hesitates for only a moment, glancing warily at the bored-looking trio before bowing slightly and hurrying out of the courts. As he leaves, he catches me looking at him, and looks away in embarrassment. I notice that he takes note of our Rikkai school uniforms before, again, bowing respectfully and disappearing past us.

_I feel sick._

Realizing how tightly I'm gripping the chain-link fence, I slowly release my fingers, ignoring the growing ache in my knuckles from the pressure. I turn back to Kirihara, who has started arguing with his senpais over how to arrange their match. I can barely hear their words; instead, a faint ringing noise fills my brain, and I look down at the ground to try to get over my dizziness. That first day at the school tennis courts – that was, I thought, the extent of Rikkai's "changes." But this… This is on a whole new level, and I don't like it.

"Hey. Koichi?"

Yuzui. Yuzui saw all this. She must know what I'm thinking.

I look up at her desperately, trying to explain my fear without words, since I don't think my throat is currently capable of emitting any sounds.

Instead, however, she smiles brightly, clasping her hands together and leaning forward excitedly. "Wasn't that amazing?" she whispers, grinning from ear to ear. "The tennis team – they're just so _talented."_

_What?_

I stare at her, trying to figure out how she could possibly be serious. "I—" I stammer, but don't know what to say after that. There is nothing to say. Yuzui doesn't understand; she has fallen under their spell, their tennis-obsessed spell, their do-anything-to-win policy.

I just shake my head, eyes wide, and she blinks back, looking worried. "Hey, Koichi, are you all right? You look a little sick…"

"I'm gonna go home," I say finally. "I have… homework." She nods uncertainly, and I do my best to placate her with a smile. It must have been convincing, though, because she waves me goodbye, turning back to the match, leaning forward with anticipation until her nose touches the metal.

Turning to take one last glimpse before I leave, I find myself staring directly into Niou Masaharu's cuttingly omniscient eyes, silver and sharp and piercing through my very soul. He watches me carefully, and then smirks. I can't hear him, but I manage to read his lips:

_Puri._

* * *

omg conflick! wats gon hapen 2 emi guiz omg so nurvrakkin'


	9. Chapter 9

a/n: omggggg sooooo aaaangstyyyy. god em like give it a rest already you are such a self-centered sob story. that's right, y'all, you have officially crossed into angst territory. WATCHU GON DO, READER? WATCHU GON DOOOO

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter nine.**

* * *

_Puri._

_ Puri._

_ Puri._

Squeezing my eyes closed, I sigh silently as I rub my temples with cold fingertips. My mind flashes through image after image: the boy's bruises, Kirihara's devil-red eyes, Yuzui's awestruck smile. Niou's lips, moving fluidly into a self-satisfied smirk, forming a single word:

_Puri._

My head, it hurts. It _kills._

Who are these people? _What_ are they? They are so slippery, so inconsistent, so devilishly terrifying. It's like they are possessed, controlled by an involuntary force, and they unleash hatred and pain upon anyone who crosses them –

They are not human, when they play tennis. They are _mean, _and I hate it.

I open my eyes again, and remove my hands from my head. Am I pathetic? Am I over-thinking things?

Do I even have a right to be angry with them?

I place my head on my desk and sigh, watching the rest of my classmates gossip amongst each other with carefree smiles. It is free period now, and three girls stand in a circle beside me, laughing delicately at another boy's exaggerated story about his convenience store adventures. They flirt so easily, so purposefully, so enamored with each other, and I wonder for a moment _why_ it is that I have ended up so entangled – not in such a simple, schoolgirl romance between a normal boy and a normal girl, but with _Yukimura Seiichi_ – captain of the most sadistic team of asshole jerks I have ever met.

This world is a haven of schadenfreude, and there is no justice.

"Koichi-san, can you come here for a moment?"

I glance up at sensei, who is gesturing for me to come up to her desk. I drag myself up and forward before standing up straight, hands at my sides, with a courteously reserved smile. I don't have the energy for snark anymore, and she looks almost surprised to see me so compliant. "Yes, sensei?"

"I need you to deliver these books to room 1-B," she says, handing me a stack of English workbooks. The cover depicts a pretty blonde girl taking a photo of the Statue of Liberty, and I feel a pang of homesickness, which bothers me because I thought I was over that phase. I look away. "You looked bored, so I thought I'd help you out," she continues, eyes twinkling at her own wit.

I don't smile back, and her face falters momentarily.

"Koichi, are you… okay?" she asks uncertainly, clearly uncomfortable with emotional confrontation. "Do you need…? Are you…" she exhales in exasperation. "Would you like to go to the infirmary?"

Shaking my head, I take the books from her. "No, please don't worry," I tell her comfortingly. "I just need…" And then I trail off, because – because what?What _do _I need? "I'll be back," I say finally, and adjust the pile in my arms as I spin around on my heel, feeling the Statue of Liberty stare holes in my face.

In the first hallway I head down – the shortest path to room 1-B – I catch a glimpse of Jackal talking to Kirihara and another boy, so I turn around and pick a different hallway, even though I have no idea where I'm going anymore. I'm half disgusted with myself at my own immaturity, but somehow feel entirely justified. I see Kirihara's eyes now and watch them transform every time I blink – white to red, red to white. White to red, red to white.

_Which one is the lie?_

The new hallway is rather deserted, which is fine. I walk slowly, serenely, staring out the windows lined along one side of the hall at the beautiful spring afternoon, listening to the soft taps of my indoor shoes on the patterned linoleum floor. I'm zoning out, I know, and all I see are the trees and all I hear are my own footsteps and there is nothing in the world but me and the sun when suddenly a single word from across the hall pierces through everything and ruins it all.

"…but Yukimura-kun said it's due next class, so really, we should start working on it as soon as poss—"

It's a girl, a pretty girl – _why is everyone in this school so pretty _- and she is walking with her friend, both of them heading toward me. They stop talking and glance up, their expressions surprised at first and then annoyed at being eavesdropped upon. I look away, but it's too late.

"Can I _help_ you?" the girl demands loudly, full of attitude, placing a manicured hand on her hip as she continues forward, like she's a supermodel on the runway.

Manicured hands, I decide, are the trademark characteristic of all tennis team fangirls, and is consequently how friends are to be picked from now on.

"Nope," I reply easily. "Not at all. No problem here. Carry on."

"No _problem_, is it?" she repeats with a short, nasty laugh. She and her friend stop in front of me, barricading the way. "Well, that's really too bad, isn't it."

_It really is,_ I think miserably.

"Koichi Emi, right?" She says my name with unnecessary articulation, like she's picking apart each syllable and checking for fleas. "I've heard of you – don't get complacent." She raises her chin and sniffs. "We _know_ what you're trying to do, you know."

"_Do_ you?" I shoot back, and immediately regret it. But my cursed mouth has a life of its own, and it continues the spitfire. "That's rather unfortunate, since I've never heard of _you. _You must not be so important, then?"

The girl's face reddens, and her friend pulls her back and steps forward as if they are a tag team. "Ex_cuse _me?" she hisses, and then laughs without humor in that infuriating bitch way. "That was really damn rude, Koichi Emi – where'd you learn to speak like that? _America?" _The girl shakes her head, pushing her brown hair behind an ear and smirking. "Clearly," she says loudly, _"Clearly, _you don't belong here. Who do you think you are?" She steps forward, and I bite my cheeks as she moves within inches from my face, her deceptively gentle features providing a painful juxtaposition with her words. _"Leave, bitch."_

_Bitch._

I pause, hit by a heavy wave of déjà vu. _Bitch. _The note – the note in my shoe locker. It wasn't from Niou.

It was from the fangirls.

And that is absolutely all I can take. I close my eyes and count to five. "Get _out_ of my face," I say quietly, "Or you'll regret it."

She laughs again. "Oh, is that right? What are you going to do, _hit _me?"

I smile sweetly, brush the bangs out of my face, take a deep breath. She's still watching me with those pretty mascara'd eyes, expectant and challenging.

And I don't know if I'm going insane or if she is, but I see those pretty eyes turn red, red, _red, _and I'm suddenly so angry and I draw my hand back, _so ready _to hurt her – to make her _cry, _to show her where her place is, to make her understand what _real pain_ is like –

"Koichi-san!"

The next thing I know, my wrist is enveloped in long, cold fingers, wrapping like angry serpents around my skin, and I'm being pulled back into someone and he is placing his hands over my eyes and the world has gone dark with my eyes behind his shield-like fingers. He is whispering into my ear, telling me to calm down, and I feel hot tears rolling down my cheeks and I'm just _so angry, so frustrated, _because

Because _when _did I become this weakling, this crybaby?

This person who wants to _hurt _people?

I fall backward into Yukimura Seiichi's arms, taking slow, deep breaths with the beautiful darkness surrounding me as I listen to his confident, soothing voice, telling them to _please forgive her – she was at fault, I'm sure, but I'm glad no one was hurt, and I'll talk to her about her actions, don't worry – _

And they're telling him, _No, Yukimura-kun, you don't have to protect her, you don't have to do that for her – she's taking advantage of you –_

But Yukimura says nothing, but even without seeing I can see his angry glare, his silent dismissal, and I hear their shoes tapping across the floor as they scurry away.

"Koichi-san," he is saying now. He has turned me around to face him, his hands on each of my shoulders, and his tone is firm, hard, angry, not gentle nor kind. He has removed his hand from my eyes, but I keep my eyes closed because I don't know who I'll find when I open them again – caring, concerned Yukimura, or cold, sadistic, cruel Yukimura? "Koichi-san, look at me."

"I broke our truce," I say instead, voice devoid of emotion, like a robot. "I'm sorry, Yukimura-kun, but I broke our truce."

"Yes, you did," he agrees matter-of-factly, disappointedly. "I'm not sure I can forgive you. I trusted you, you know?"

I say nothing, because what is there to say? _I guess you were right about me being useless, Yukimura-kun? _I have never been someone to put myself down, and yet – and yet, that is all I can think – self-deprecating thoughts, horrible thoughts.

"Open your eyes, Koichi-san."

So I open them, because he told me to, because it's Yukimura and I can't disobey him anymore. His face is expressionless, but he smiles nicely – not reaching his eyes, but the muscles in all the right places – as he pats me gently on the head.

"Niou will take you back," he says, and the next thing I know he has passed me over like I am a puppy with a broken leg. "I'll take care of these books, so you go back to the classroom. I don't know what that earlier dispute was about, but you will apologize to those girls later."

It's not a suggestion. He smiles again and then nods at Niou, who has emerged out of nowhere. Yukimura takes the books from my hands and heads away, and it hasn't occurred to me how heavy they were until the weight is gone.

It is just me and Niou now, staring at each other. His face is smoothed over – self-satisfied, maybe – but I can read his vibes:

_You're pathetic._

And without a word, he spins on his heel and strolls leisurely toward the classroom, not bothering to look back to see if I am following.

* * *

"You're a real piece of work, Koichi. You know that?"

I don't reply, but Niou doesn't seem to care. He picks absently at his fingernails, expression bored as he blows a bubble from the piece of gum he stole from Marui's backpack.

"Seriously, I have never met anyone who has caused so many problems in so short a time," he continues drolly. "I might even admire you if I didn't find you so stupid."

And that is all he has to say. He turns back around in his seat, listening to music for the rest of the period, leaving me to stare emptily at the back of his head.

The bell rings, and he's so, so right – I am _Koichi Emi, _not this sore, incapable invalid. So I grab his arm before he leaves the classroom for lunch, looking directly into his eyes, trying to re-muster up the determination that I am so famous for, that I have worked so hard to become. "Niou," I say firmly. "I'm sorry for all this."

"Yeah," he agrees. "You should be." He looks away, and I falter because I think he's done and I don't want it to be – I have so much left to say, so much to explain, and finally he turns back and looks me straight in the face with those silver-sharp eyes.

"Let me tell you something, Koichi," he says now, lazy drawl, superior tone. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, appearing out of nowhere, throwing your American-style glitter and your superior attitude and your unfounded judgments about us all over the place, and then injecting yourself into our lives like you _own _us."

He smirks, shakes his head, doesn't break eye contact, and I can't look away.

"Maybe things were all rainbows and unicorns in your snow-globe-glass-kingdom back home, but it's not like that here. You think I was kidding when I said I didn't care about you? Oh, do you have another think coming.

"You keep your high-and-mighty sense of justice out of our lives, because _newsflash: we don't care."_

And with that, he stands back and reaches out gently to stroke my hair back, and it's so sweet it hurts – because I know, for _sure_ this time, that this gesture _is _a lie.

* * *

I buy my bread and take my sweet time going back to the cafeteria. I'm filled with the strangest emotions – anger, frustration, regret, injustice, restlessness – and as I stand just outside the doors, know I can't face the team right now. So I drop the bread into my pocket and spin around, making my way away from my problems to somewhere I can be alone.

That somewhere turns out to be the courtyard I saw earlier. Sitting comfortably under a large, leafy tree, I rip open the packaging and pop a piece into my mouth. I lean my head back against the trunk as I close my eyes, basking in the noon sunshine warming my legs.

And suddenly, the warmth disappears. I am immediately filled with dread, because I know exactly what's coming, and I'm so angry at myself for picking an area so out in the open.

But I'm Koichi Emi, and I have been pushed around quite enough for one day.

Their shadows on the ground reignite my anger, and I snap my eyes open and stare up at them.

"Can I _help _you?" I say icily, echoing her words from earlier. I raise my eyebrows, crossing my arms across my chest, though I remain in my half-laying-down position – just to show that they're not even worth my effort to get up.

They look alarmed at my change in attitude for a moment, exchanging uncertain glances, but they quickly reassure each other and turn back to me with their noses disdainfully in the air. "We were just wondering," the girl says nastily, "what you're still _doing_ here."

I laugh loudly, sarcastically. "What, you thought you could make _me_ leave with your half-baked insults from earlier? Don't kid yourself."

She smirks, tossing her hair. "It sure seemed like it from the way you were_ sobbing _into Yukimura-san's _shoulder_, anyway," she replies shrilly.

I bite my cheek. Okay, that one stings, though I don't know why.

No – of _course _I know why. It's because she's _caught_ me – caught me red-handed in my crime of being a weakling, a wimp, a sob story _loser._

I shake my head at myself. This isn't who I am, and if Koichi Emily doesn't make her sorry ass back to earth, there is no point to me being here.

So I stand up and step out of the shadows – their shadows, the tree's shadows, my own shadow – and smirk confidently back at them. And it feels so, _so _good to feel like me again – defiant and unafraid and _strong – _and feel a sadistic kind of glory as I see their faces falter as they step back.

"What is it that you get out of this?" I ask them. "Do you feel a compulsive need to wreak havoc on this world?" I shake my head, a confused expression on my face. "Why are you doing this? Enlighten me, please. Because it makes no sense to me. _What," _I say, "Is your rationale for giving me hell right now?"

She places her hands on her hips – _classic bitch pose, _I think – and sneers. "You don't know?"

I don't answer, and she exhales in exasperation.

"What you've _done,"_ she says, like she's explaining the alphabet to a toddler, "is not know your place." She takes a deep breath. "You appear out of nowhere and think you run shit – you come here and think you can do whatever you want? Who do you think you are?"

That stings too, because Niou told me essentially the exact same thing, but I hold my tongue.

"You just got here, Koichi Emi, and you _dare _to place your sluttish hands on our tennis team? Do you _know _how many girls here would _die _for them? They're not _yours!" _She steps forward and jabs a finger into my chest, which I find a little awkward, but she seems too angry to share the sentiment. "You stay away from them. You stay away from them, or we'll _find _you, you arrogant, ignorant _bitch."_

With that, she gives me a self-satisfied smirk and begins to turn back, thinking she's won.

Well, we can't have _that, _now, can we?

"Oh," I exclaim loudly, stopping her in her tracks. "Oh, _no. _This is more serious than I thought."

She draws back. "What?"

I shake my head, a regretful look on my face. "I'm no doctor, certainly, but I know what you have." She blinks back, looking so absolutely confused that it's almost endearing. _Almost_. "What you have," I repeat, "is called _Chronic Hypocrite Bitch Disease – _or CHBD for short. There is no cure, unfortunately, and it seems you'll be living with this awful disability for the rest of your life." I sigh with the sorrow of a broken piñata, and I have to pinch myself from bursting into hysterics at her angrily contorting face.

"Ex_cuse _me?" she hisses. "You _bitch—"_

"Let me tell you something," I interject, "about hypocrisy. The tennis team – they're all just _human." _Well, kind of. "They don't _belong_ to me, and they don't _belong _to you. Do you feel like you're doing good for the world, protecting your precious _tennis team _from harm? You're _not. _You're being a hypocritical bitch – because who are _you _to decide who they do and don't talk to?" I cross my arms again and raise my chin a little higher, because why the hell not? "They're free and capable people, just like the rest of us – not _gods, _as you seem to believe – so stop making sorry excuses for yourself and blaming others for your own reluctance to break out of your shell!" I shake my head. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"No – you don't – you don't understand – "

"_Don't_," I interrupt flatly. "There is a set amount of stupidity that I'm physically capable of handling per day, and you are dangerously close to crossing it. So I suggest you take your friends and _leave – _maybe come back another day after you've strengthened your argument."

And amazingly, that is exactly what they do. One of the other girls whispers something to her, and she looks down at the ground, almost shamefully. I wonder if I have done the impossible and forced some sense into her. She gives me one last half-hearted glare and then disappears, and suddenly it is gloriously silent again.

I've won. I've _won. _I close my eyes again and drop back down to the grass, ready to sleep the rest of the lunch period, when I am reawakened by a mocking round of applause. Cracking open one eye, I see Niou perched precariously on the stone wall surrounding the school. How long has he been there? I sit up, surprised, opening my mouth to say something, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

"You," he says approvingly, "handled that beautifully. I thought you were going to play damsel-in-distress again, like you did before – but you didn't." He nods. "I approve."

"I'm so glad," I reply flatly. "You know I do hate disappointing you." I pause, startled by how true that actually is. I _don't _like disappointing him.

"I'm glad, too," he says, and I blink, so he clears it up. "If you showed signs of doing anything stupid – which you usually do – I would have had to step in and save you. _Again_."

I lean forward, angry again. "_Why? _You said – you said you didn't care."

_And it hurt. It hurt a lot._

"Because," he says. "Yukimura told me to watch you. And if you haven't noticed, those who defy Yukimura don't end up in happy graves."

"Watch me?" I furrow my brow, annoyed at the implications of this. Niou isn't phrasing it right. Yukimura isn't concerned about _me_ – not worried about my safety, or my mental stability, or any such thing. He's worried about what I'll do if I'm set free in the world, like a wild gorilla released from its cage. Like if he lets me go unwatched, I'll set fire to every building in a ten-mile radius, just to bask in my own rebellious atmosphere.

Okay, so I'm starting to realize that _maybe _I didn't set the best first impression possible around here. I roll my eyes anyway.

"You don't have to do that."

"But I will."

"I'm _telling _you not to."

"And we all know I adhere to every word Koichi Emi utters like Scripture." I glare at him, but he only smirks. "Puri," he says.

I have never hated a word so much in my entire life. "What does that even _mean?" _I hiss.

He shrugs. "Bell's gonna ring. Time to get up, sleepyhead," he sings, and then he disappears over the wall.

* * *

q: GUESS WHO UPDATED.

a: I DIIIIID


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** disclaimed, and w/e.

* * *

**.change of plans.**

**.chapter ten.**

* * *

"Koichi-san."

I freeze, but don't allow myself to panic. I take a slow breath and turn around, giving him a brilliant smile. "Yukimura-kun," I say. "Hi."

He looks pleasantly surprised, but there's still an underlying aura of disapproval under it all. Yukimura has probably never felt anything but disapproval toward me. Although, I muse thoughtfully, if I was perfect, I would feel that way about everyone else, too. "Are you all right, now?"

I force a laugh, but he's not falling for it. With a sigh, I brush the bangs out of my face and look up at him awkwardly. "Yes, I'm all right. I just…" He looks at me, nodding. "I just want to apologize. For earlier."

"Apologize," he repeats. "Whatever for?"

I narrow my eyes. Is he testing me? He knows exactly whatever for – is he just trying to rub it in my face? The headache from yesterday is back, and suddenly, I just feel so _angry – _because who is he to do this to me? All this time, all this effort I've put in to keep him from criticizing me. My very character has changed, both voluntarily and involuntarily – and why? For what? Who is Yukimura Seiichi to _own _me?

Goddamn Rikkai Dai – two can play at this game.

"What do you think?" I reply, and stare him straight in the eyes. We watch each other for a long moment, challenging the other to speak first.

He's the first to crack the conceding smile, and I feel a sense of blatant triumph at my victory. I smile pleasantly, but he only stares straight at me, an unwavering, hardened gaze. My smile falters and only _then_ does he smile again – for real this time.

"Yes," he allows graciously, emotions still masked as always. "You do seem fine. I'm glad."

I nod and turn, but I have never felt more confused in my life. The fleeting sentiment of victory has disappeared, replaced by a horrible perplexity.

What the _hell _does Yukimura want from me?

"Why does it matter?" Yuzui asks later, at lunch, under the tree in the courtyard. She bites into a sandwich, twirling a red pen around her fingers even though she doesn't have any work to do for once. "Why do you want to impress him, I mean?" She closes her eyes and leans back against the trunk, crumpling her garbage into a compact ball and wiping her mouth with delicacy.

I sneer at the clouds. "I don't _know_, and that is the problem," I groan. "What is it about him – there's just something, right? Haven't you ever talked to him? Haven't you ever felt it?"

"Of course I've felt it," she mutters. "He's Yukimura Seiichi."

"Well, there's your answer."

"No, but I mean—" she trails off, gesticulating wildly with her hands. "I mean… it's _you. _Koichi Emi. Queen of rebellion, who doesn't take orders from anyone—right?"

"Ugh," I groan, sinking into the ground. I forgot about that label. "That's seriously my identity, isn't it?"

Yuzui tilts her head curiously. "Do you disagree with it?"

I pause thoughtfully. "Nah," I say finally. "It's true, I guess. It's just _other people _who don't like it." I sigh at the clouds, floating serenely by like they have nothing to care about. "Why does he even talk to me if he hates me so much?" I demand.

"I don't think he _hates _you," she replies lightly, but she's so obviously holding something back.

I sit up and narrow my eyes at her. _"Yuzu."_

"I have a _theory, _is all." I look at her expectantly, and she finally sighs, setting down her pencil and folding her hands. She leans back in her chair and shrugs. "He doesn't _hate_ you, Koichi, but he's… worried. About Rikkai." Yuzui looks up, exasperated. "You're… different. Different from anyone Rikkai's known. Yukimura Seiichi is the notorious Child of God, the monarch of Rikkai Dai, and no one disobeys him—out of fear, maybe, out of respect, out of admiration. Whatever the reason, you don't go against what the Child of God wants." She jabs a finger into my shoulder. "But you do. You cause trouble in school when he's right there. You talk back to teachers, you get in fights with your classmates, and you blatantly challenge him like it's completely natural.

She shakes her head. "You bring a strange, unfamiliar kind of life to Rikkai, and you're distracting his team. _That's_ what he's worried about." She shakes her head. "You – you might not see it as big, but… you have to understand whom we're talking about here. There is a grand total of one thing that Yukimura Seiichi cares about, and that's winning at tennis – and he's afraid you'll be in the way.

"That's why he's trying to control you. Do you see?"

I look at her, speechless. "I…" I manage finally. "Jesus."

She shrugs. "I don't care either way, of course. I'm a neutral party… but what are you going to do?"

I furrow my eyebrows at the sky again. "He wants to change me, I know that," I begin slowly. "I don't blame him, either, but I can't…I can't _change _for him." I shake my head. "I tried, Yuzu, and it's just not something I can do—or want to do." She's nodding, reassuringly, like she knows, and I don't know whether that makes me feel better or worse. "I can't just stop talking to Niou, or stop hating math, or give reconciliation cookies to my classmates despite them bullying me—not because someone _tells_ me to." I trail off, not knowing how to continue. "God, why is tennis so important, anyway?" I demand.

She smiles and picks up her juice again. "Rikkai," she says simply, and holds up the can to me.

I sigh, lifting up my own and clinking it against hers. "Rikkai," I agree, and down the stuff in one big gulp.

* * *

"Dismissed," sensei says. "Have a good day."

I breathe a sigh of relief before haphazardly pushing the items on my desk into my bag, standing up and scurrying away before anyone can talk to me. I slip my hands into my skirt pockets for my wallet, planning to pick up some dango on the way home, when I suddenly realize I'm missing my phone.

How like me. I should really just give up already.

Turning on my heel, I take a leisurely pace on the way back, dancing my fingers along the wall, giving time for anyone still in the classroom to leave. I stop in front of the door, placing my ear against it in case anyone actually is still there. I'm not really expecting anyone to be, since it's already been at least fifteen minutes since class ended, so when I hear the sound of a girl's voice I literally jump in alarm.

"…Niou-kun," she's murmuring, and I almost groan out loud. Niou Masaharu and some girl in the _one_ room I need? Just my luck, seriously. "Don't you see? Don't you _see _what she's doing to you? You don't have to be on her side! But I'm…" She pauses shyly. "I'm different."

My eyes widen as I draw back. Holy shit, is this a confession? An actual love confession, after school in the classroom, like in actual shoujo manga?

Niou, supposedly, answers somehow – but he seems to do it without words, because he says nothing. Is he whispering to her? I furrow my eyebrows, frustrated – what exactly is happening? I tell myself it's not my business, but – but it _is. _I can't just walk away now; I have to know.

Why? Why do I care so much?

Before I have time to think about it any longer, I peer past the doorway, one eye peeking into the window. My eyes widen and I'm speechless, a shocked lump of... of _something _caught in my throat, because they're…

They're _kissing._

I choke on nothing, heart pounding against my ribcage like it's threatening to explode. What the – what the _fuck?_

I feel like a pervert, a creep, watching them do this, but it's like a train wreck, the way I can't look away despite the horror, the confusion. Is she kissing him or is he kissing her? I can't even bring myself to blink as I watch through the dirty window, covered in fingerprints and ballpoint pen graffiti, as she grabs the back of his head and pushes her lips harder against his, breathing hard.

Niou, though, is just standing there, passive, arms at his sides – and though it's hard to tell from this angle, it almost looks like he's smirking.

Classic.

They separate, and she's staring at him pleadingly, a desperate, hopeful look in her eyes that actually breaks my heart, even though I hate her. Sure enough, he only looks down at her, still smiling, no emotion.

"You enjoyed that?" he asks her, voice low.

"I—" she begins, but then falters, because what can you say to that?

"Sure you did," he answers for her, smoothly and soothingly. "You enjoy it, don't you? You enjoy doing this, acting all cute and sweet and _in love_. But you don't know me, darling." He tilts his head and reaches out, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She flinches, and I flinch too, because I know that feeling – how fake, how sweetly _fake _he's being when he does this. "You know why you're doing this. It's because I'm _popular, _right? You want to carry me around on your arm to show off to your friends, right?"

She looks properly horrified at his crude reasoning. "No! It's because… It's because I _like_ you, Niou-kun…"

"Oh?" he cuts in, smirking. "You like me, I see. What would you do for me?"

A relieved expression floods her face, like she actually thinks she's finally getting through to him. I want to barge in and pull her out before she gets any more hurt, because God – she is going to need years of therapy after this. "Anything," she breathes instead, and her eyes light up again. She leans forward, eager, and he laughs.

A train wreck. It's a train wreck. Why can't I stop it?

He curls a strand of her hair around his fingers, wrapping it around, slowly, still stroking her cheek – and then he pulls. She yells, whimpering, staring up at him in confusion.

"Do you still like me?" he asks. "Do you still think I'm wonderful?"

"Ow! Niou-kun, what—"

I can't see his face from this angle, but I can guess what his eyes must look like. The same expression he's given me a thousand times before – steely, pale eyes, apathetic and indifferent toward however I must feel. I watch the girl's face instead, watch the weakness so transparently oozing out of her very pores, and wonder if that's how I looked when he said this to me.

"You're not aware of the things I can do," he says lowly, a hint of a smile in his voice. "You're not aware of the infinite number of ways I can hurt you – and enjoy it. Don't you care that you'll be hurt by me?"

She smiles dreamily. "No, because I like you, Niou-kun…"

A pause. He looks at her for a long moment, and then bursts into laughter. He places a finger on her forehead and pushes her backward, as far away from him as possible, and then turns to slip a few books into his bag before slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"You're fucking stupider than I thought," he says finally, shaking his head. "Absolutely fucking idiotic." He tilts his head and smirks. "And sorry, but the stupid ones are no fun. Under normal circumstances, I might have gone along with it, just to see how far you'd go, but _you—"_ He leans forward and blows into her ear, watching her shiver with dead eyes. "You are not even worth the effort."

Niou jerks his head toward the door. "Now get the fuck out of here before I make you."

She looks confused. "Wait, what—"

"No? You're not going to leave?" He rolls his eyes. "No problem. I'll do it."

And he spins on his heel and glides away from her, leaving her to watch her world crumble before her very eyes.

He sees me as he exits the doorway, and for some reason I'm startled when he makes eye contact. A slow grin crosses his face. "You dare to call me a sadist," he says slowly, "when you choose to just stand there like this? _Emily_, I'm shocked."

I sneer, ready to punch him, but in a flash his hand whips out and grabs my wrist. I begin to protest, but he drags me behind him, out toward the school exit, and we're gone before she can see us.

* * *

I'm not sure how, but we end up on a swing set at a playground at the elementary school nearby. The place is deserted, and it feels strange to see a playground without children – it's so dead, probably like Niou Masaharu's black-as-death heart. I glare at him, arms crossed, as he swings and whistles Elle Driver's tune from _Kill Bill_. Like he's _seriously_ not even sorry.

"Why did you bring me here?" I demand, getting more annoyed and furious with each second. "Asshole."

He just looks at me, that slight, dead smirk on his face, and I know he has an answer but just won't give it to me. Of course not. This is Niou Masaharu – why the hell would he do anything to make my life easier? He shrugs. "You can go, if you'd like. It's not like I want you here."

I pause in disbelief. I shake my head, barely seeing past the white-hot anger. "Jerk. Liar."

"I prefer the term 'Trickster,'" he muses absently, and I twitch involuntarily. "It combines the two nicely. Subtle, yet obvious, no?"

I ignore him. "You'd better apologize to that girl."

"The chances of that happening," he replies, "are extremely slim."

I stare at him. "Asshole."

"You shouldn't even care, really, as it's none of your business." Niou pauses. "You get your nose in a lot of things that aren't your business, don't you?"

I roll my eyes and blow the bangs out of my face. "I don't want to have this conversation. Again."

"Of course you don't, princess. You don't like anything difficult, do you?" He tilts his head to the side. "Well, if our princess here doesn't want it, then it shan't be so." He looks at me, a cold smirk upon his lips, his eyes still dead – and suddenly I realize: they always are. Even when he's laughing, when he's speaking, when he's doing anything at all. Niou is always bored, emotionless, like he's _waiting _to do something – and what? What is it? Does he want me to do something? Is he expecting something of me?

No. I don't care. I _won't _care.

"That is completely unnecessary," I snap, "so if you'd just shut your mouth forever, that'd be great." Why does he even say things like this? It doesn't make sense. I spin on him, trying to get back on topic. _"Apologize, _Niou. It's the least you could do."

"To _you_?"

"To that _girl. _In the classroom. Whom you probably traumatized for eternity." I raise my eyebrows pointedly, but he just looks at me with that omnipresent jaded gaze, clearly not caring whatsoever. I clench my jaw and fight the urge to punch him in the nose. "God – you're such a – " I take a deep breath. "You know what your problem is, Niou? You don't care about people's feelings. You don't care about anything. You're – you're the opposite of Yukimura!"

Niou blinks, and then doubles over in laughter. _"Yukimura?"_ he repeats. "Oh, god – I can't – " Wiping imaginary tears from his eyes, he shakes his head at the sky. I sit there in distaste, sneering, until he finally finds it within himself to speak. "You – _like _him? For real?" He shakes his head. "I had my suspicions, but I didn't think you were _that _easy. Jesus Christ."

I swallow. Is it that ridiculous of a notion? "No," I snap. "No, I don't like Yukimura, okay? Shut up."

"Now who's the liar?" Niou coos. "He shows you a little, miniscule bit of kindness, pays attention to you for a _moment, _and now you're in love with him? Typical." His gaze is unwavering, suddenly dark. "Now I get why you're so sympathetic to that dumb girl. You two are just two peas in a pod, aren't you?"

"What?" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Look, if you won't leave, then I will." He stands, dusts off his pants, and slings his bag over his shoulder, deliberately letting the swing sway as he stands. I sneer, growling, frustrated beyond words. He is not getting the last word—not this time, and never again.

"_You!"_ I hiss, running forward and practically tackling him to the ground. I grab his bag from him and whip it away into the sandbox, sitting with my knees on his chest and my face inches from his. My hands fist around his collar. He looks honestly startled, and it thrills me to see some actual, raw expression on his face.

"What," he drawls, "the fuck."

I am quivering. I want to break him. I want to break him so bad—physically, mentally, in every way possible. I want to see him cry, want to see him yell, want to see him smile. I want him to stop being just a hollow shell, a protective shield against everything. I want him to show weakness, to _need _something—but he won't, because he is Niou Masaharu, and I am Koichi Emi, and this is how it is.

"What the hell is your problem, Niou?" I demand. "You are so slippery—say something _real, _why don't you? You speak in riddles, in that stupid condescending tone like you know _everything _when you don't know anything at all. Are you scared, Niou? Are you afraid what will happen if you open yourself up?"

He stares at me, trying to lift his head. "Are you _high_, or what?" he begins, but I pull even tighter at his collar.

"Why do you play tricks?" I insist. So many questions-I have _so many questions, _and he has answered none of them.

"It's none of your _business, _Koichi," he snaps back. "You are batshit insane. Get off me."

"It _is_ my business!" I hiss, and suddenly my cheeks are wet. Startled, I touch my face. Am I-holy shit, am I crying? _Me? _For _Niou?_

His eyes are dead again, and I panic. _"Puri," _he says, and pushes me off with a surprising strength.

"Don't you goddamn _dare _run away again. Stop pushing me away." I glare up at him, trying to make out his silhouette as I face the sun. "First we're friends, and then you hate me. We laugh together, and then you tell me what happens to me. Just—what are you? What do you want me to _do?"_

"The real question is, Em—what do you want from _us?"_ His answer comes out so fast that it cuts me like a whip. He walks to the sandbox and dusts off his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before turning around. "Answer that and maybe I'll answer one of yours."

And then he turns and begins walking away. I shake my head, glaring at the sky and fighting back tears. He's gone, then, and I don't think I'll ever succeed again. My last chance has been—

"Buchou?"

* * *

A/N: Hoho, an ACTUAL CLIFF HANGER this time. Whaddup, life.

A lot happens in this chapter, but if you legitimately got through it, I wildly commend you. Seriously. Actually, if you actually read ten chapters of this ridiculous story, I hail you as winner of the universe. -hails-


	11. Chapter 11

.change of plans.

.chapter 11.

* * *

"Buchou?"

I blink, turning slowly. Sure enough, there is Yukimura Seiichi, watching us wordlessly with an inscrutable expression. I wipe at my cheeks and stand up, feeling annoyed for some reason.

"Niou," Yukimura says calmly, taking in the scene. The tears on my face, the dirt on Niou's back, the tense air between us. "What are you doing here?"

"Sharing pleasant conversation with Emily," Niou replies easily, jerking his thumb toward me. He looks at me wryly. "Real pleasant. Like you wouldn't believe." I narrow my eyes at him, but he only smirks back. Vaguely, I wonder if _anything _I said has gotten through to him.

"I see that," Yukimura says. "But the reason I am asking is that I am quite positive that I asked you to stay after for tennis practice today with Yagyuu, did I not?"

I stand up on wobbly legs before Niou can answer, feeling unreasonably nervous. "How…" I begin, but stop when my voice breaks. I pause for a moment, take a deep breath, and then try again. "How long have you been here, Yukimura-kun?"

"I just got here," Yukimura replies lightly, without looking at me. He keeps his eyes trained on Niou, expectant and demanding. My legs wobble again, but I exhale slowly, lifting a hand to clutch at my heart. I feel like I am about to collapse, but this time, it's from the utter sense of relief. _He hasn't heard. He hasn't heard anything…_

When I look up again, smiling faintly, Yukimura is staring at me. I swallow a yelp, disguising it into a bizarrely loud hiccup, and step back in surprise.

"What… happened between you two?" he asks, tilting his head. His gaze shifts from me to Niou, eyebrows raised, inviting either of us to answer. When neither of us do, he seems to decide choosing a specific target is more effective. Directing his stare toward me, he steps forward slightly. "Koichi-san?"

"Uh," I mumble, and then glance at Niou. He is watching me, one eyebrow raised, and I can almost hear his voice: _go on, then. Humor us_. I shake my head and sigh. "I really don't know how to explain."

"Well, please try," he says, and crosses his arms.

I want Yukimura to say "okay" for once, to deal with not knowing for once. Even though it was expected, I frown at him, and cross my arms back. I'm shaking – why am I shaking? "I can't," I mumble, but my voice is still too quiet for what I want to say – what I'm _really _trying to say. _It's not really your business, Yukmiura-kun._

He pauses for a long moment, staring at me, those razor eyes and that quiet anger. "You're not going to tell me?" he asks quietly, slowly. That anger again—that quiet Yukimura-brand anger, white-hot and boring into my skin_. _He tilts his head and stares at me, stepping forward with careful deliberation.

_Do not step back, Emi. Goddammit, do _not_ stop back. _I wish I was used to it by now – but if I look away, I lose. I clench my fists behind my back where he can't see them and bite down hard, forcing myself to stare into those ice blue eyes. I am beginning to sweat. Still, I shake my head lifelessly, and then determinedly. "No," I say decisively, chasing the shakiness from my voice. "No, I'm not." I glance at Niou, who looks surprised – and _god, _I know this is not the right time, but there it is – _emotion _on his stupid, shell-like face – and it's so, so wonderful. I tilt my head, questioningly, but he just continues staring at me. Now it's all a bit unnerving.

Yukimura is quiet for a moment, and then turns slowly. "I see," he says softly. Then: "Niou?"

Oh, _that's _cheap_. _Let's play a round of our favorite game, Who Will Fall to Yukimura's Terrifying Clutches First?

He turns to him. "Yes, Buchou?"

"You know I will not tolerate relationships on my team until we have secured our third consecutive championship title. You need to focus."

Niou smirks. "We're not in a relationship," he replies easily. "Most definitely not. We are further from a relationship than you could imagine. We are in the _opposite_ of a relationship, if that exists." He pauses. "Thank god, too. I don't see how anyone could possibly handle her."

I sneer at him, opening my mouth to retort, but Yukimura cuts me off.

"Ten laps around the park."

Niou pauses, and then actually laughs. "What?"

"Ten laps," Yukimura reiterates, "around the park."

He stares at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Niou," Yukimura growls lowly. "Fifteen laps—"

"Yeah, I heard you." He shakes his head. "And I refuse."

They stare at each other for a long moment. And then Niou looks away, turns, and begins jogging around the playground.

My jaw clenches. He jogs at a slow, casual pace, a noncommittal expression on his face, like he's not thinking about anything at all. Like this is the most natural thing to do.

What _is_ it, exactly, that gives Yukimura so much power? Why must everyone follow his every command? It's strange, and yet at the same time, it makes perfect sense.

We stand awkwardly there, not quite facing each other, but still overly mindful of each other's presence. I pretend I'm not thinking about anything, but a thousand million thoughts are whirling through my head – and I _so _want him to be the first to say something, because if I do, I know I'll come out with some kind of insipid apology – which is not what I want. Not ever again.

He's watching me, and I stare back. He probably wants to assign me laps, too—but he can't. He doesn't control me, because I'm not part of his stupid little team.

"We're not in a relationship," I say finally, and he glances at me and gives me a quick nod, a ghost of a half-smile.

"I know," he says evenly, but nothing else. He watches me for a long moment, calm and quiet, and when I feel my body begin to curl into itself in some familiar sense of shame, that's when I realize: _this_ is exactly how he keeps everyone so on their toes. Through expectation, quiet domination. Half of Yukimura's orders aren't orders at all; they are insinuations, vicious imaginings on the victim's part –and if I don't let that get to me, I can win.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Yukimura-kun, I…" I shake my head, trying to find my words, and suddenly everything is just so funny to me. Because everything I've done for this boy, this _boy _who is incredible and amazing for all the _wrong reasons – _everything I did was never who I wanted to be. "Yukimura-kun, you know… I used to like you."

He doesn't answer, but that's okay. He's watching me with those cold blue eyes, but this time, I don't bother to try to interpret what he's thinking.

"And…" I pause, and marvel at how easy this is to say. "And I still like you. Or I like parts of you. The parts where you're amazing and charismatic, where you help me. But you're too… you're too controlling, Yukimura-kun; too strong, too _regal_ to allow anyone else's opinion. We are opposites, like we can't coexist, let alone understand each other."

He watches me blankly. "And… Niou?"

The question is unexpected, and I frown. "What about Niou?"

He moves forward until he reaches me, standing just a bit too close. I try to move away, puzzled, but he tilts his head and smiles coldly, eyes locked on mine. "You said don't like me. So do you like Niou?"

I frown and step back, feeling like he's just hit me against the side of my head with a crowbar or something. "I never—" I begin, but stop. Never what?

He waits for a moment, but when I don't finish, he nods and takes a deep breath.

"Koichi-san, I think this conversation has gone beyond what either of us expected, so I'm just going to say what I want to—_need _to say." He looks up to watch Niou run, who is passing the tire swing with the most apathetic expression on his face.

"Tennis is important to me—just as the team is important to me. There is very little I value more than those two things." He pauses. "I don't expect you to understand; and even if you said you understood, I probably wouldn't believe you. These feelings aren't something a casual observer could comprehend—someone who hasn't experienced this, the thrill of tennis."

I won't pretend to understand. I don't, and I admit it.

"And I… have the responsibility of leading Rikkai to the national championship title for the third time. Failure, of course, is impossible if we continue being the Rikkai we always are. But people are fragile, Koichi-san; fragile beings, shaky on their feet, and a single push on uneven ground may send one tumbling down a slippery slope." He's turns away from Niou, circling us around the park, and stares at me. "Niou is on that slippery slope, Koichi-san, though you may not know it. In fact, very few people know it: perhaps not even Niou himself. The truth is, Niou doesn't care for tennis."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What?" I say, and shake my head. "That not true. Niou is obsessed with tennis—everyone in Rikkai is."

Yukimura nods. "Certainly, he enjoys tennis. At the level he's at, it would be hard not to. But for Niou, it's not the sport he enjoys. He likes mocking people, is all, and he's mastered how to do that through tennis. The Trickster. And he's a skilled player, but that's it—just skill. There's no drive behind it, and that's why—why a single distraction could push him away.

"You… are that distraction, Koichi-san. Your personality by itself is making him realize how little tennis matters to him." He stares at me, into my eyes. "Niou doesn't like being tamed, more so than anyone else on the team, and I believe you are reminding him of that.

"And I need you to stop."

The words are heavy, unexpected. I stare at him, at his very serious face, and don't know what to say—don't know how to _choose _which of the many things I want to say. _But I can't, _is on the tip of my tongue. _I can't stay away anymore._ I open my mouth, prepared to say something, _anything_, because Yukimura-kun is waiting—

"Buchou." It's a distant voice – so far away, like he's standing miles away, but I can hear it vaguely through the massive cotton swaths in my ears. "Sixteen laps – I threw one in for free." I can hear the humor in Niou's tone, and it's getting a little louder now, a little stronger. I turn my head, and it takes ages, but finally I see him – Niou, standing there, blocking what's left of the sun. He is barely breathing hard, though he's probably holding it in, the bastard.

He doesn't say anything to me, but his gaze travels slowly toward mine, holding my eyes for a moment.

And he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks away.

As I watch him, he seems to physically fade from my sight, and suddenly the world is back to normal – loud and clear and normal-speed, like the spell is broken. I glance at Yukimura, breathing normally again. He is not happy, watching Niou walk away.

"I—" I begin, and then clear my throat before shaking my head firmly. I take a few steps back—another, and then another. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

I can feel Yukimura's gaze boring into my shoulder, and it burns hard.

Niou was almost there. He was so _close _to defying Yukimura, when he first refused to run those laps—and it was not like him. Not like Rikkai.

Is that what Yukimura-kun is talking about, then? Not wanting to be tamed?

But that doesn't make sense.

Does it?

I squint my eyes into the sun. Niou, apparently, travels at the speed of a jet plane, and has disappeared even though I ran immediately after him. By the time I get home, it is early evening and dark enough to turn on the street lights, but when I glance at Niou's house, his lights are still off. Which means he's still not home.

It takes a real effort to get up in the morning, like there is a stack of concrete bricks resting on my chest. I can't sit up, and I stare out the window for a few minutes, just lying there, until my mother barges into my room and forcefully pulls me out from under the covers.

Goddamn _Japan_.

I pull on my uniform and stare at the mirror. I look the same on the outside as I did on my first day: same overgrown bangs, same makeup style, same lack of knee-high stockings. But something's different. I hate it here, but in a different way from before. In an inescapable way. Like I couldn't leave, even if I wanted to.

Even if I wanted to.

The moment I step into 3-B is the instant I realize something is wrong. The classroom is strangely empty—not _empty_-empty, of course, as most of the students are still there. But it's the tennis group: Sanada and Yukimura are gone, and Niou in front of me, leaving a circle of nothingness around me. I frown, trying wildly to remember whether anyone mentioned a practice match today.

But no amount of brainstorming gets me anywhere, and the day drags on without providing any answers. Me, an island in the middle of nowhere, lost and alone and filled with confusion and a strange, implacable sense of frustration.

Where _is_ everybody?

As the last bell rings and I dump my books into my bag, the anger emerging, my pocket vibrates. I sling my bag over my shoulder and pull my phone from my skirt.

I blink at the screen before answering. It's Kirihara.

"Yeah, hello? Kiri-kun? Are you in school today?" I pause, but he doesn't answer. That's weird. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen, tapping it a few times. "Hey, Kiri-kun? Are you there?"

I can hear him breathing on the other end, but there is still no reply. I shiver at the strange sense of an ice-cold hand gripping my heart. Something is… wrong. "Are you in school, Kiri-kun?" I ask again, the panic audible in my tone. "Kiri-kun—"

_"Senpai… Yukimura-buchou… Yukimura-buchou…"_ He chokes, and then quiets down.

I freeze. "What?"I demand. "What is it, Kiri-kun? Speak slowly. Take a deep breath and speak sl—"

_"He's collapsed, senpai,"_ he says finally. _"Yukimura-buchou's collapsed. He's been hospitalized."_

And then the line goes dead.

* * *

A/N: Ugh. This chapter is BY FAR the worst I have written. Ugh. But I do like this ending. That's the only good part. Of this whole chapter. Of this WHOLE STORY. Oh my god, it's like I'm going through a mid-life crisis.

Also, hey, so I know the pacing's weird and kind of rushed here with Em suddenly confessing to Yukimura and in the same sentence saying she's over him—but it's been a few months and it was kind of hard to get back into Em's voice and the plot and everything and I'm just. I'm sorry. I really am.

(Man, it seems all I do in these author's notes is apologize. I suck balls. Ugh. God.)

P.S: I'm sure you have noticed my incredible usage of proper capitalization and punctuation in this author's note. Total first, right? It's because I'm working on maturin'. My birthday's this Friday! I'm almost an adult. Not really.

Holy fuck, I'm almost _seventeen_. I started this stupid story when I was thirteen. I am the ultimate procrastinator, holy _shite_. How do you people deal with me?!

P.P.S: Holy meatballs on a cracker-snapping pony, are y'all reading Dangan Ronpa? IT IS THE GAME OF THRONES OF ANIME. IT'S TERRIBL(Y AWESOME SO GO READ IT.)

Thanks for reading this and not tracking me down and murdering me! ILY all.


End file.
